


The Wheels On The Bus

by Aseraphfell



Series: Property Damage [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, an attempt to attack the plot in a way that chuck has presented it as, more babey bastard au, which is a story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:30:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 117,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aseraphfell/pseuds/Aseraphfell
Summary: “Well,” Adam says. “We’re not with Sam and Dean right now, because let’s face it, they’re the leads and everyone else is just an add-on.”Belphegor makes a face. “Oof.”“But, let’s assume that everyone who directly interacts with Sam and Dean are then part of what is the meat of the story,” Adam says. “It means we’re on the bus right now.”Jack frowns. “We’re - ”“I think it’s an expression,” Michael says.“It means we’re backstage. We’re not doing the lights or the curtains, but we’re not acting. We’re just sitting waiting for our parts. No one is watching us,” Adam says. “This is a play for an audience of one.”Belphegor leans forward suddenly. “And if no one is watching us - ”“It means we can still directly affect the play but no one would be able to stop us,” Michael says.-Four boys with a rough understanding of how narratives work attempt to figure out how to derail an entire universe's storyline.
Relationships: Belphegor & Jack Kline, Belphegor & Jack Kline & Michael & Adam Milligan, Castiel & Jack Kline, Michael & Adam Milligan
Series: Property Damage [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542490
Comments: 129
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

Adam sets down his latest stack of books. One of the few luxuries they’re allowed is being able to borrow books from any library Sam and Dean can drive to in about four hours. 

“I’ve got a theory,” Adam says.

“Oh, you can get one of those?” Belphegor asks, lowering his glasses to look up at him with his empty eye sockets. 

“Yeah, and maybe you’ll get one if you try hard enough,” Adam says smoothly. Jack raises his eyebrows in surprise. Michael just sips his coffee, amused. “Anyway, so, which of everyone we know do you think are the main characters?”

Belphegor blinks. “Excuse me, Milligan, are you okay?”

“I’m serious, Belphegor, look - ” Adam grabs a chair and sits down. They’re alone in the bunker today. Sam, Dean and Cas are working a case, and they’d gladly sat this one out just to get out of the way of whatever argument might break out between Cas and Dean again. “The way they talked about the whole encounter with Chuck, or God, or whatever - he described it as a story, right?”

Belphegor picks up the book that’s on top of Adam’s pile. The title reads  _ The Rest of Us Just Live Here.  _

“Yeah,” Jack says. “He was talking about a finale, or something.” 

Belphegor glances up at him, a slight tilt of the head that Jack’s always been able to read as concern, whatever goes for concern for Belphegor anyway. He’s wearing Jack’s original body, after all, the very same one that lived through a smiting from Chuck, when aforementioned conversation happened. 

“Okay, so, we gotta think about this in terms of a story,” Adam says. Belphegor lifts up another book. It’s a collection of Norse myths. Another. It’s titled  _ American Gods.  _ “What does a story have?”

“Leads,” Michael says, looking down at his coffee. He’s apparently decided sixteen sugars isn’t enough as he reaches for the bowl beside him to drop yet another sugar cube into the drink. Nobody wants to know what it tastes like. “Plot. Conflict. Side characters.”

Adam points to him. “This is good. We have you, you were backstage when all of this began.”

“You’ve lost me,” Belphegor says.

“Imagine we’re in a production,” Adam says, motioning with his hands. “In a production, there’s a stage. There’s a script. There’s lights and there’s everyone who’s involved who’s making this a production.”

“Okay,” Belphegor says. He reaches over for Michael’s sugar bowl and snatches a cube. He pops it into his mouth before Michael can slap his hand away. “And?”

“Usually, everyone knows what they’re doing, because otherwise, the play wouldn’t work,” Adam says. “But in this scenario, think as if the whole play is just ad lib. Nobody in the cast has a script, but everyone’s put into all sorts of situations by the crew. Like the angels making sure who’s gotta be born is born - it’s like the lighting crew making sure who needs to be seen is seen.”

Belphegor nods, indicating he’s listening, although Jack isn’t sure if he really is.

“They’re given a situation and they just gotta make choices based on what they know, and then if they go way off script, more things happen to push them back on track,” Adam says. “Now, think again to what makes a story. Leads and side characters and conflict and plot. The conflict and the plot would be provided by the people backstage, like the script writer and the crew.”

“Aaaand the production would be carried by the leads and the side characters,” Belphegor says. 

“Exactly, but who’s the focus?”

“The leads.”

“What do the side characters do when the leads take the stage?” Adam says. 

There’s a pause. Adam leans forward, folding his hands together, dramatic. 

“It’s a theory,  _ but,”  _ he says. “Michael, there’s millions upon millions of people on Earth, but who have the angels been in charge of manipulating and watching over?”

“The people essential to the story,” Michael says. “Everything had to lead up to the end, or what was supposed to be the end, anyway.”

“What changed your dear old dad’s mind, anyway?” Belphegor asks.

Michael quiets. Adam looks to Belphegor with a tight look very slowly, like he wants to punch him but is refraining from doing so because Belphegor hasn’t really done anything to earn the punch.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “I was in the Cage for years.”

Belphegor pauses. “...yeah, my bad, man, I think I forgot.”

“No harm done.”

Adam coughs. “So,” he says. “They’re his favorite story, right? Everyone else just - ” He shrugs.

“Lives here?” Belphegor jokes. 

“In a way. I had a normal life before I was dragged into Sam and Dean’s lives. I bet everyone does unless they’re in some way connected to the Winchesters, even loosely. Even if they show up for only one chapter or one paragraph of the goddamn Winchester gospels,” Adam says. “I bet if we took a map of everyone’s lives in the world, the only people who even know about this supernatural stuff are the ones who have connections to the Winchesters, or had some sort of backstory contributions for the Winchesters to be where they are now, even in the faintest way.”

“Oh my g - whatever, whoever,.” Belphegor leans back in his seat, putting his hands to his head. “That’s so messed up to think about. Oh wow.”

“It’s a little cool, kinda,” Adam says. “If you take a step back but then you realize, oh, the story is us, and then it’s not fun anymore.”

Jack thinks about this for a moment. And then he goes really quiet too, and because he’s around three of his only other friends - maybe they’re his best friends now, really - they notice and they get quiet as well and turn to him. 

“Jack?”

“My mom,” Jack says, and everyone understands. Even Michael’s usual hard stare softens. 

“And just for finale 2.0,” Belphegor mumbles. 

“Everyone else just exists,” Adam says, jumping back into topic before everyone can get uncomfortable. “But the leads are always living conflict-laden lives. What about the supporting cast?”

Jack doesn’t know much about stories, so he turns to Michael.

“Usually kept busy somewhere until they need to interact with the leads,” Michael says, lifting a shoulder. “That’s the way we did it, anyway.”

“Put on a bus,” Belphegor says.

“Yes, exactly,” Adam says, “With their normal lives or their normal- _ ish  _ lives.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” Jack asks.

“Well,” Adam says. “We’re not with Sam and Dean right now, because let’s face it, they’re the leads and everyone else is just an add-on.”

Belphegor makes a face. “Oof.”

“But, let’s assume that everyone who directly interacts with Sam and Dean are then part of what is the meat of the story,” Adam says. “It means we’re on the bus right now.”

Jack frowns. “We’re - ”

“I think it’s an expression,” Michael says.

“It means we’re backstage. We’re not doing the lights or the curtains, but we’re not acting. We’re just sitting waiting for our parts.  _ No one is watching us,”  _ Adam says. “This is a play for an audience of one.”

Belphegor leans forward suddenly. “And if no one is watching us - ”

“It means we can still directly affect the play but no one would be able to stop us,” Michael says.

_ “Exactly,”  _ Adam says, smiling proudly.

“I love it when our brain cells collide. Up top, Milligan.” Belphegor holds up a hand. Adam smacks it. Belphegor holds out the same hand to Michael, who just stares at it.

Belphegor takes it back awkwardly.

“So if we’re...backstage,” Jack says. “We can mess with the Winchester gospels?”

“We can damn well try. Everyone who’s backstage has the biggest chance of interfering,” Adam says. “We can push it as offbeat as possible.”

“Wait,” Jack says. “How do we know we’re not playing any roles right now?”

Everyone pauses, thoughtfully. 

“I don’t think we’ll ever do,” Michael says. “The Winchester gospels have continued even without interference from Heaven - direct ones, I mean - so we can rule out angelic or demonic manipulation.”

“So we could still be on stage and not know it,” Jack says. 

Belphegor makes a finger gun at Adam, and not in the fun way. “Well, I ain’t taking any chances.”

“Turning on each other won’t help, you do not go against the pawns of a chess game, you go against the player,” Michael says.

“I’m sending that to Hallmark and asking for royalties,” Belphegor says.

“Our best bet of identifying if something is part of the main story is if it has something to do with Sam and Dean,” Adam says. “Anything aside from that is fifty-fifty, anything incredibly mundane and ordinary is backstage.”

“What does researching about stories and talking about pushing a story off-beat count as?” Jack asks.

Belphegor looks up the ceiling. “Uuh, fifty-fifty.”

“Aren’t we pushing off-beat the  _ Winchesters’  _ story?” Michael points out.

“Oh. Right.”

“Even if we could push the story off-beat, what would we do?” Michael asks. “Assuming this is, in fact, backstage, what’s our plan?”

“You’re good with plans,” Adam says, smiling brightly, knowing full well that Michael would smite anyone but someone he’s spent eternity in Hell with, and Adam just happens to fit the exception requirement. 

“I’m not good with thinking for myself.”

“Ah - well, that’s where - I - wait.” Adam pauses. “Yeah, okay, I got nothing. I was going to say that’s what you have me for, but I was planning to push making the plans onto you. Nevermind.”

“That’s sad, Mike,” Belphegor says.

Michael frowns. “Don’t call me that.”

“So we’re like trying to ruin the play,” Jack says. “But we don’t know if we’re in the play or if we’re outside of it.”

“Basically,” Adam says. 

“And we have no idea how to tell which is which,” Belphegor says.

The room stands another long pause.

“Are we gonna try anyway?” Jack asks.

“We aren’t proven bastards for nothing,” Adam says. “At this point, what do we have to lose? Being guinea pigs or being  _ bastard  _ guinea pigs?”

“You would make a good salesman,” Belphegor says. “I’m always down for being a bastard.”

“You’ve always been one,” Michael says.

Belphegor, being Belphegor, throws his shoe at him. Michael smites it before it can hit his face.

* * *

“It has been two days,” Belphegor says. “I say we’re on the bus.”

“But we’re talking about it again, so there’s a chance we’re off the bus,” Jack says.

“Say something stupid.” Belphegor turns to him. “Quick.”

“What?”

“Say something so, so stupid and random that not even Chuck himself could even think about it.”

“Uhhhh onion-scented lotion?” 

Belphegor takes a moment to think, and then nods. “Yeah, that’s stupid enough, we’re on the bus.”

“My Immortal sucks.”

_ “Fuck you,  _ but we’re definitely on the bus,” he says. He gets off the couch, leaving behind the stolen PS4 he’s nabbed from a kid yesterday. They’re allowed out the bunker up to a certain distance and as long as they observe curfew. 

Jack snickers. Belphegor grabs his arm and drags him to the kitchen.

“Come on, boys, we are  _ on the bus!”  _ Belphegor loudly announces. Michael and Adam look up from the flour they’re carefully measuring. 

“I’m making pancakes,” Adam says. 

“You look like you’re trying to find a cure to vampirism.”

“Excuse me for forgetting how pancakes work because I’ve spent several centuries’ worth of vacation in Hell,” Adam says. Then, to Michael. “I think that’s enough.”

Michael dumps the flour into the bowl.

“Look, I know you’re making pancakes, but - hello? We’re on the bus. We never know when the next stop is, let’s  _ go,”  _ Belphegor says.

“We need a plan first. What do we do?” Michael asks. Adam is opening a carton of eggs. He picks one up and stares at it intently.

“I dunno, make a mess,” Belphegor says. “Jack?”

“I think we should stop whatever The End is?” Jack says. “Only, we don’t know how to do that.”

“Anything pertaining to The End will be part of the main story,” Michael says. 

Adam drops the whole egg into the bowl of flour. Belphegor shuts up in the middle of opening his mouth. He flounders like a fish for a few seconds. 

“Why would you - why did you - ”

Adam turns to him. “Do you not…”

_ “No.” _

“Oh,” Adam says, sharing a look with Michael. “I was wrong about the vinegar too, wasn’t I?”

_ “Milk,  _ Milligan, you put  _ milk  _ in pancakes, not  _ vinegar,”  _ Belphegor says, storming over to them and taking the bowl of flour from the counter. He puts it in the sink. “But, matters at hand. How do we affect the plan by not actually jumping into the plan?”

Adam looks at the flour bowl sadly.

Belphegor clears his throat.

“We can mess with the lights?” Jack offers.

Michael looks up for a moment, but then looks away. 

Belphegor notices, of course. “Mike? You got something?”

“Don’t call me that. I was thinking that if Heaven isn’t involved, we could do something with them,” he says. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“We could fix it,” Jack says. “I think it’s steadied ever since you got here, but you’ve been hiding and you don’t…”

“Feel the same,” Adam says.

Michael nods. “Heaven will have steadied from both Adam and I getting out of the Cage, but again, what would we do with that?”

Belphegor looks thoughtful. 

“The rat has an idea,” Adam says. “What’ve you got, Bel?”

“Vinegar in the pancakes.”

Adam rolls his eyes and sighs. 

“No, no, look - the apocalypse is the pancake,” Belphegor says. “But it’s still cooking, so, if we mess it up by ruining whatever ingredients can be put into it, it’s just gonna be bad.”

“Please realize that ruining the actual plan is not the same as ruining the analogical plan; if we ruin it badly enough, we can push a story offbeat, but ruin an entire universe,” Michael says.

Jack thinks about his mother again. He looks to Belphegor.

Belphegor sighs. “Okay, good point.”

“It’s still a good idea,” Adam concedes. “If we can mess with what goes into the apocalypse without directly interfering with it,  _ somehow,  _ we can stall it. Maybe even put a stop to it, but that’s a Hail Mary. Our biggest bet is achieving a domino effect.”

“I’m not good with that,” Belphegor says. “I’m not good with anything regarding connections.”

“Like with everything else,” Michael says, rolling up the opened portion of the bag of flour they’d been using. He sets it up on the cupboard above them. Belphegor sneers at him. 

“We can map it out, maybe,” Jack says. “Or find someone who is good with connections?”

There’s a loud  _ clunk  _ in the distance. The door’s opening.

“It’s the Winchesters,” Michael says.

“Off the bus,” Jack says.

“We’re off the bus,” Belphegor says, and then holds up a finger. “But as soon as we’re on it again, we’re talking about this.”

They hear the Winchesters’ heavy footsteps going down the steps. They’re back onstage. Time to pretend they’re not conspiring.


	2. Chapter 2

“So how’d it go?” Belphegor asks. He's not really concerned, he just likes being cheeky. It's fun watching Dean try to stop himself from throttling him. Cas has mellowed out ever since Jack got kicked back down to earth. 

“Fun as always,” Dean says, throwing a duffel bag onto the table. “How much of the bunker did you wreck?”

“Adam tried to make pancakes,” Jack pipes up. Adam swats his arm. Jack just grins and takes a step away, holding a hand up to block away the swatting. “He dropped a whole egg in the bowl.”

Belphegor winces. “A whole egg. Shell and all.”

The three musketeers turn to them, slowly, pausing in setting their things down. The moments where Belphegor feels to be on the same wavelength with them are rare, but this is one of them. 

Sam turns to Adam, who throws his hands up.

“I forgot how they were made, let it slide!”

“He thought you put vinegar in it,” Belphegor says. Dean makes a face and a disgusted noise. 

“Yeah, whatever, bullying hours are over,” Adam says. “I've read all my books, by the way.”

“Yeah, we'll take them back, uh, soon. Soon-ish,” Sam says, absentmindedly. Belphegor glances at Adam, who shares a look with Michael, who shares a look with Jack. 

Something’s up. 

“Anything interesting happen?” Belphegor asks. 

“World’s gone to shit, that's as interesting as it gets,” Dean says. He shrugs off his jacket, covered in dirt and blood, and stops as his phone buzzes. 

He grunts, throwing the jacket to the couch. He takes his phone and answers the call. “Hey, Rowena, how'd it go?”

Belphegor takes a few steps back so he can stand closer to Jack and the others. He folds his arms behind his back. 

Michael gives him a discreet look, motions his head towards Dean and then towards the hallway. Belphegor nods. 

He feels a weak pulse of power pierce the air.

Michael's listening in on the conversation. Cas’ power has been waning lately, and it seems to be weak enough that he doesn’t notice this.

“We're gonna go make actual pancakes, you guys seem busy,” Belphegor says. He grabs Jack's arm and tugs him along, giving him a meaningful glance. The boy seems to get it and follows along, Michael and Adam behind them. 

As soon as they round the corner, Michael links the conversation into their heads. Belphegor winces at the initial high pitched whine ringing in his ears as soon as the connection hits. 

Rowena is talking. 

_“- the barrier was successful.”_

Michael sends out another pulse of power. They all hear Dean’s voice like they’re still in the same room with him. 

“Ow,” Jack mutters, starting to topple over from disorientation of the connection. Belphegor grabs him before he can fall.

“Good, good,” Dean says. The four of them walk just a bit further, turning to hide behind a wall before sitting down. “How soon do you need to redo it?”

_“Tomorrow, for good measure. I'll try a stronger spell, since I appear to have underestimated just how many ghosts are inside the barrier,” _Rowena says. She pauses. _“Dean?”_

“Yeah?”

_“You realize this is a temporary solution, yes?” _she asks. “_We’re trying to block a bomb while worsening it in the process.”_

Dean doesn't answer right away. Belphegor imagines him looking to Sam. 

“We know,” he says, eventually. “We're working on it.”

It's Rowena's turn to pause. She sighs. _“Let's hope we find something soon. I don't know how much longer we can keep refreshing the barricade.”_

The call ends. Michael unlinks the connection with a sharp tug. Belphegor clutches his head and winces, his ears ringing again. 

“Oh, I hate that,” he says. “Let's never do that again.”

“Hopefully, we'll never have to,” Adam says. “Kitchen. Quick. Before any of them walk past.”

* * *

There seems to be a problem at the refuge center that the hunters have set up outside the rift zone, so after the boys clean up from the hunt, they leave again. Cas tells Jack and the others to behave. They give him varying responses that amount to yes. 

As soon as the door closes, Belphegor sits up from where he’s been lying down on the living room floor for the past thirty minutes, waiting for the Winchesters to leave. They’d all moved after pretending to fight over the fact that no one could use the kitchen properly.

“_Finally. _I hate waiting. That was too long. This is too long. Anyone else think this whole thing's pacing is abhorrent?”

“It's a play, but we are still existing from day to day, Belphegor. We don't get to skip scenes,” Michael says. 

“I hate it.”

“At least we have the place to ourselves now,” Jack says, moving to sit at the meeting table.

“Scoot over,” Belphegor says. Jack does. Belphegor links his hands together like he's about to give a business proposal. “Okay, so, we're on the bus. Thoughts?”

“We need to keep an eye on what the Winchesters are doing to be able to make a plan running alongside it,” Michael says. “We need to push the story offbeat from the sidelines, but we need to know where to hit.”

“They're trying to contain the ghosts and everything else coming out of the rift,” Adam says. “When Hell opened, _everything _opened, right?”

“Yeah,” Belphegor says. “Although whatever demons got out probably immediately got as far away as possible before the barrier first went up. Whatever's still inside should be stuck, but we didn't see anything in there aside from me.”

“Hell only truly had one horror,” Adam says. 

Belphegor nods sagely. “Your ability to make pancakes.”

Michael ducks his head and puts a hand over his mouth. 

Adam glares at him. “Traitor.”

“I didn't say anything,” Michael says.

“Whatever,” Adam says. “If there _are _demons inside the barrier, could the barrier contain them?”

“It was more of a spells for ghosts,” he says. “Otherwise, I can’t get in or out.”

Adam nods. “Jack, could you try to find out if there's been a rise in demonic activity anywhere? Anywhere in the world?”

“On it.” Jack snaps his fingers. His laptop suddenly finds itself on the table. It's quite surprised since Jack rarely really gets lazy with moving around, but the spacewarp travel is cool. 

“If the demons are out, then the ghosts aren’t our only problem,” Michael says. 

“Is the Heaven option still out?” Belphegor asks. 

“Well,” Michael says. “We'd need people to hold down Heaven in the first place.”

Jack sits up. 

“Already?” Adam asks. 

“No, no, just - The Empty.”

“Last I heard, they were a bitch to work with,” Belphegor says. 

“I mean. I can't say anything. They sent me here,” Jack says. shifting. “But, they sent me here for a reason, right?”

“_Fix it, _or something, right? So you said.”

“Yeah. I can ask for their help,” Jack says. “All the angels who die end up in The Empty.”

“You can re-fill Heaven again,” Michael says. “Reverse all the damage that has been done.”

“And then get them to help with the apocalypse,” Belphegor says. He points to Michael. “And _you're _here, they'll listen to you.”

Adam glances at Michael. Belphegor's not privy to what it means so he doesn't bother trying to figure it out.

“I...can,” Michael says. “Certainly.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Belphegor says. “Provided you brief them on what's happening.”

“I don't know what's happened in the time I've been gone,” Michael says. 

“I can ask Cas,” Jack says.

“You've been topside the longest, is there anything you already know that can help?” Adam asks. 

“Uh.” Jack looks down. “My… father was around. Uncle Gabriel was too.”

Michael turns to him. 

“He was prisoner for a while, I think. In Hell,” Jack says. “After he got out, he helped get me and Mary out of apocalypse world.” He motions to Michael. “There was another version of you there. An evil version. Killed Lucifer.” He plays with the hem of his sleeves. “I killed him.”

There's a beat of silence. 

“Well,” Belphegor says. “Fair enough, I'd gladly killed our Michael if he gave me a reason to.”

Adam gives him a flat look, but Michael just smiles.

“Apocalypse world,” Michael says. “I've heard mentions of that once or twice, but no one's really explained that.”

“It's another universe. A version of the universe where Sam and Dean were never born,” Jack says. “I got stuck there with Mary for about a year. The angels had won. They turned earth into a hellscape.”

“Sweet irony,” Belphegor says. 

“The Michael from that world got bored with his universe,” Jack says. “Tried to take over ours. He was working with monsters. Dean trapped him in his head but he got out.”

“You had to kill him,” Michael says. 

Jack nods. “I burnt out my soul for that.”

“Then you got sent to the Empty,” Belphegor says. “Unless it’s that you had enough for the Empty?”

Michael starts to say: “Souls aren't infinite resources, but nothing in the universe disappears into a vaccuum. Everything -” But Adam interrupts him before it can get too far. “Okay, we're getting off-topic. Continue. The Heaven idea?”

“If we can get all of the angels back into Heaven, we might have enough of an army to take on all the ghosts and demons from Hell,” Jack says. “That's basically it.”

“I would be the one to lead them,” Michael says. “And while we might not have a way to seal the rift, we’ll have enough manpower - “

“Angelpower,” Belphegor coughs. 

“ - to make sure that nothing gets out while we try to seal the rifts.”

“What exactly is the nature of these rifts? We gotta know so we know what to do, right?” Adam asks. Jack resumes typing on the laptop, continuing his search, but still listening to the conversation. “Explain it to me. Are these just holes in the earth or?”

“Imagine two balloons,” Michael says. “They're very far away from each other. In fact, they don't exist in the same room. In this scenario, the rooms are the entirety of the realms of existence these balloons are in on, so they can travel as much as they'd like around it, but never reach the other.” 

Michael holds up a hand. There's suddenly a pencil between his fingers. On the table, two red balloons, floating just above the table, right across each other. 

“Now imagine something with enough force tearing right through the walls and the balloons and thus creating this direct connection to them.” Michael flicks the pencil away, only it doesn't fling itself towards the balloons. It disappears instead. Belphegor turns to find it embedded right between the red balloons, each end in either of the balloons. “That's what happening.”

“We've got to close the bridge, then,” Adam says. 

Belphegor reaches out towards the balloons. Jack looks up from his work, watching curiously. 

“This looks very unstable,” Belphegor says. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the way I know it, reality is a framework that relies on everything that makes it up so that it can continue to exist without collapsing on itself, right?”

“Correct,” Michael says. “Every single piece is crucial. That's why Heaven is failing. The angels holding it up are lacking.”

“And now there's this.” Belphegor takes the pencil between his fingers. He tugs slightly. One balloon slowly deflates. 

“Hm,” Adam says. “Don't like that.”

“We can't just close the bridge, we have to patch up the tear and restore everything,” Jack says. “Right?”

“Put simply, yes,” Michael says. 

“If you patch the rifts, the bridge is still there. If you take away the bridge, the rifts are still there. You gotta deal with both at the same time,” Belphegor says.

“While dealing with what's come out of Hell,” Adam says. 

“Sam and Dean might be able to find something to fix that, so we need to keep an eye on them,” Michael says. 

Belphegor raises an eyebrow. “You have that much faith in them?”

“Well, they have proven to be foolhardy multiple times, and it seems to work,” Michael says. “And remember, every reality relies on everything that makes it up so it doesn't collapse in on itself. The very purpose of this version of reality was because Chuck wanted to tell a story, thus placing innate importance to the existence of Sam and Dean.”

“Talk slower.”

“This universe was built _for _the Winchesters,” Michael says.. “And this universe, if you think about it like that, _is _the Winchesters’. If this was a building, they're two of the pillars holding it up while being the leads of the play, essential to both the creation of the universe formationally and narratively.” 

He starts motioning with a hand, which Michael rarely does, so Belphegor makes a point to listen. 

“And because they are a fixed point of the universe and a huge piece of why it exists, they will, time and time again, be assisted by it and assist it,” he says. “Let's go back to our analogy. This is a play. But the play isn't scripted. Sure, the obstacles are there, but choice is still a factor. _Meaning, _the Winchesters’ actions are never predetermined unless directly influenced and manipulated.”

“So they're not destined to always find the cure to everything,” Belphegor says. He snaps his fingers as everything connects. “But they do anyway, because every reality is self-regulating, just like every organism’s immune system.”

“I'm lost,” Adam says. 

“A game isn't a game without a main character. A play cannot proceed without a lead,” Michael says. “This analogy works for if we think about everything in the context of a story. But think of it in the sense of how the universe exists. Every reality is held together by everything that makes it up.”

“Like the building you said,” Jack says. 

“Yes. But it constantly moves and shifts to work within its own rules,” Michael says. “Because it needs to continue to exist, that’s how it was natural created, to do everything in its power to assure continued existence. Why do you think time is so malleable and why timelines must always be corrected if they go wrong? Or why Nephilims cannot and should not exist in multiples? The balance of everything is fragile.”

“That's why the Empty got so mad, isn't it?” Jack asks. “When Cas woke up.”

“Exactly, there's forces out there that have to work to hold this whole place, and everything outside and connected to it, together,” Michael says. “It's a whole system. But, sometimes the system is a lot more subtle than it is angels manipulating everyone and the Empty keeping all the dead angels and demons asleep as latent energy.”

“You're telling me,” Adam says. “That Sam and Dean are literally helped by…inevitability.”

“Say it,” Belphegor says. 

“No.”

_“Say it.”_

Adam pretends to spit on him. “No.”

“It's not fate. Again, free choice,” Michael says. “It's more like chance. Sam and Dean have a bigger say in the working of the universe in that everything they need will fall into their lap if it serves the continued existence of the universe.”

“Plot convenience.”

Belphegor starts laughing so hard his voice goes high-pitched.

“I...suppose,” Michael says. “In a way.”

“They’re literally given plot convenience because a universe wants to keep existing by moving around everything within it to make sure this happens,” Adam says.

“Which falls apart if Chuck starts controlling everything,” Belphegor says. “But so far he hasn’t. Hopefully he never thinks of that.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Adam says.

“But at least we have something to work with. We can ask the Empty for help, we can rely on Sam and Dean’s natural plot convenience-ness to find a cure because the universe is apparently not above committing blasphemy, and we have Michael to lead the angels if they get restored,” Belphegor says. “Once we get the angels and Michael to lead them, we can round everything and everyone who does not belong to earth, and then have Sam and Dean do their thing. Problem solved.”

“It’s _a _plan, but we’d be idiots to stake everything on that,” Adam says. “We’ll keep it in mind. We still need to follow exactly what the Winchesters are doing. I’m going to try to ask - ”

“Guys,” Jack says, and he says it with such alarm that the entire room seems to go dead silent. 

“What is it?” Belphegor hazards.

Jack turns the laptop around so that it faces them. There are multiple windows open on the screen. Belphegor only needs to take one look to realize that all the headlines are essentially the same.

“I don’t think we’re dealing with just one rift.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, Rupture never happened in this AU. Everything happened way differently. And also ROWENA DIDN'T DESERVE TO DIE DAMMIT.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this last week but I forgot rip

The fabric of the mortal plane isn’t so much bridged together with Hell with a pencil as it is peppered with bullet holes by Chuck’s temper tantrum. 

Adam's not a nail-biter, but he thinks he would very much like to start now. 

“At this point, the universe has got to be working overtime to try and fix itself, right?” Belphegor asks. “That many bridges means the more unstable everything is. Never mind the demons, the entire popsicle house is going down.”

“Well, the Winchesters _are_ going to mind the demons, and so is the rest of the world,” Michael says. 

“The barrier’s not going to do anything,” Jack says.

Adam leans back in his seat and pinches the bridge of his nose. This is going to make everything significantly harder. He and Michael could probably survive away from Earth, but the entire universe could collapse on them anyway. 

Jack turns to Belphegor. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” Belphegor asks. 

“About the rifts?” Jack gives Adam and Michael a glance each. “Did any of you?”

“When a door in a building opens, you don't know if another has done the same unless it's right in front of you,” Michael says. “No, Adam and I didn't know.”

“Neither did I,” Belphegor says. “And I didn't know how Earth was supposed to feel these days either. Did _you _feel the surge of energy when you came down here?”

“No,” Jack says. “I was - being The Empty might have messed me up a bit.”

“You were surrounded by latent energy and then thrown down to a place with roughly that same amount of energy, I'd say it's normal,” Michael says. “But, the problem at hand.”

“Bringing the angels back would stabilize Heaven, right? Would that help in holding the universe up, since Heaven _is _an important part of it?” Adam asks.

Michael thinks it over. “Theoretically. I’m not sure.”

“Good enough,” Adam says. “Besides, we’ll need all the help we can get in rounding up the demons and the ghosts. The problem is - how much time do we have and how much is the damage already?”

“Cases happen all over the world everyday, and if it's going to be seasoned demons and ghosts coming out, I'd say they'd lay a little low,” Michael says. “Keep a low profile. Fake their business. The same thing happened during the first apocalypse.”

Belphegor raises an eyebrow.

“When Lucifer was released, demons went topside and _celebrated, _and I assume you can imagine how that went. News only spread between those who survived their massacre,” Michael says. “But the Winchesters learned about it, for obvious reasons.”

Adam groans. “I hate this. Can I quit?”

“Not if you want to keep existing,” Michael says. 

Adam puts a hand to his chest, although he's too tired to pull a face and go ham with the theatrics. “You're _my _double, you're supposed to be on my side.”

“Stealing lines, are we?” Belphegor mutters.

“I _am_ on your side, I dragged you out of Hell with me,” Michael says. “I could have left your ass in the Cage to rot.”

Adam snorts. “You'd never.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Aww.”

“Eww.” Belphegor sticks his tongue out. 

Adam smiles at him, smug. “Sucks not having friends, huh?”

Belphegor scoots closer to Jack. “I do.”

“You stole my body,” Jack says. 

“I thought we were supposed to be past that.”

“We are getting distracted again,” Michael says. “Focus if you want to keep existing.”

“Winchester plot convenience,” Belphegor says, pushing them back on track. “Can we count on that if the very thing providing it is sick and dying?”

“We might not,” Michael says. “They might need a little push in the right direction, but if we don’t know where to push them, then we’re not going to be able to do anything.”

“We can get a push,” Jack says. “There has to be something. The universe wants to keep surviving, right? Gods, maybe? Deities who know things?”

“That _is _an idea,” Adam says, pointing to him. “Okay, contact every single person out there with any amount of power.”

“We could try to convince Hell,” Belphegor says, suddenly.

Adam blinks. So does Michael. 

“Hear me out,” Belphegor says, raising his hands in placation. “Demons are selfish bastards by nature. If we tell them they could die by the universe just imploding, they might consider being on board. No promises, but they might just consider.”

“Okay, point,” Adam says. “Revive angels, recruit deities, recruit demons. What else?”

“Get hunters to contain everyone who doesn't want to cooperate, brief everyone who does, somehow get the angels and the demons to work together - ”

Adam pulls a face. That’s gonna be impossible.

“ - let the Winchester-universe connection work out a solution, bam. Reality patched.”

“Save for the part where we’re literally fighting the universe’s creator, and he can just tear everything open again,” Adam says.

Belphegor raises his fists. “We fistfight Chuck in the back of a Chick-Fil-A parking lot.”

“That is very optimistic, but we do need a plan,” Michael says. “As - as impossible as it sounds.”

Adam reaches a hand out to put it on his arm. Belphegor’s polite enough to keep his mouth shut. 

“What do we do about the rifts?” Jack asks. “People are noticing them. It’s gonna be dangerous if they start poking around because they think it’s just something from an earthquake.”

“We can send some hunters anonymous tips?” Adam asks. “Or, come on, they should have noticed.”

“They’re not going to know it’s because Chuck’s decided to end this world,” Jack says. “They’re gonna think it’s just a random tear until something big enough happens to connect it all together. We _have _to tell someone.”

“The four of us can certainly go around telling people, but the problem is what happens if the Winchesters, and thus Chuck, find out,” Michael says. “And what do we even say?”

“We heard from it from a grapevine?” Jack offers. 

“They’ll still figure out it all connects to the Winchesters eventually. Boys’ve got a reputation,” Belphegor says. “I haven’t been topside in years and _I’ve _heard about them.”

Michael gives him a funny look. “Because you thought Dean was cool while he was in Hell.”

“Those were the equivalent of my middle school years and no one wants to remember that, least of all me.” 

“If we say we were contacted by the Winchesters, we’re gonna have to do a lot of explaining, the news is gonna spread, and the Winchesters will know it was us. They already don’t trust us,” Adam says. “If we don’t say how we know, we risk not getting believed. If they do believe us, they’re going to be suspicious, and news will spread, which could again get to Sam and Dean, or worse - ”

“Straight to Chuck,” Adam says.

“We could invade their dreams,” Belphegor says. He motions to Michael. “Or - you can.”

“We might be able to use the plot convenience thing, though,” Jack says. “If we tell Sam and Dean, they could look for solutions faster, and the universe could arrange everything for them.”

“Still falls into the trap of catching Chuck’s attention,” Michael says.

“Can’t you fix a universal tear?” Adam turns to Jack. “You’re like, almost all-powerful because you’re a nephilim, right?”

“Uh,” Jack says, “I - I don’t really know how dimensions and tears work.” He scratches his cheek. “I don’t know much about my powers, really. I just feel like I want something to happen and it happens, sometimes.”

Adam turns to Michael.

“A rupture between two universes is exactly just a tear between two different things right next to each other,” he says. “If there’s an open bridge, there’s just an open bridge, you’re not attacking the pillars inside of each universe. The problem here is that the foundation that makes up this universe is getting eaten away, so it’s collapsing.”

“But can he fix a tear within an infrastructure?” Adam asks.

Michael turns to Jack. He looks at him for a second. 

“He can certainly try, I’ve never seen it done before. Again, this is all theoretical,” Michael says.

“How’d you even know it, then?” Jack asks.

“I was there when the universe was made. You get to listen to the technicality of everything.”

Jack turns to Belphegor. “How do _you _know?”

Belphegor lifts a shoulder. “Trade secrets. Can’t tell ya.”

“If he can try,” Adam says, spreading his hands out. “Why don’t we let him?”

“We risk catching Chuck’s attention,” Belphegor says. “That’s what we snag on. Every time we think of something, we risk getting Chuck’s attention and thus throw the whole plan away.”

“Our best bet for a successful operation is secrecy, although there is a possibility that there will be more casualties,” Michael says. 

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose again. This is exhausting.

“But, if we’re careful,” Michael says. “We save the world.”

“Everybody wants to change the world,” Belphegor says. “But no one wants to die.”

Adam puts his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

“I don't understand, but I don't want to know,” Michael says. 

Jack, where he's sitting, stares at the table intently. He's left the laptop facing them, and its screen goes dark from being unused for more than ten minutes. 

He taps his fingers on the surface. 

“You look like you've got an idea, ” Michael says. 

“What if we just hint at it, give them little nudges?” Jack asks. He waves a hand. “You know, a book here, a printout there, a convenient trail way over there.” He shrugs. “If we're careful, maybe we can let them work on things without exposing ourselves. We just have to act, after all.”

“We can do the same thing with the other hunters,” Belphegor says, catching onto the idea. “Visit them around the world, fake a story, say there looked like people with black eyes running around the place.”

“As long as we stay out of Chuck's way, we should be okay,” Jack says. “We can make sure as many people as possible are alright while also giving the Winchesters hints.”

“How are we gonna do that, then?” Adam asks.

Jack frowns at the table, thinking. Belphegor clicks his tongue. 

“Well,” he says, “Nobody at the refuge center has seen Michael or Adam, right?”

* * *

“This is a stupid plan,” Adam says. 

“It's the only plan we can think of on short notice,” Michael says. “If we're lucky, it might go off without a hitch.”

Adam, currently in his twelve-year-old body courtesy of Jack, angrily adjusts his coat. Belphegor had stolen it from a thrift store for him. Some bastard had thought it would be a good idea to use glitter to create designs on it.

Michael, beside him, also looking twelve, has a really large pink bomber jacket with a broken zipper, but at least he's rocking it.

The stupid plan that happens to be the only plan they can think of on short notice is for Adam and Michael to infiltrate the ranks of the refuge center by posing as children who are too worried about the situation for their own good. Supposedly, before this all started, they saw the cemetery ground split wide and things come out. They'd ran. Then they were ushered into the school to hide. They know what they saw, so they'd looked it up and _oh_, look at that, turns out that event had happened all over the world at roughly the same time. Belphegor had pointed out that there had been a mother and a child who had been attacked by the ghost of John Wayne Gacy, of all people, and would likely believe them. They were to just _happen _to talk to the mother. 

Jack is to contact and ask Billie and The Empty about reviving the angels first, and then Belphegor and Jack are to scout for locations of hunters and witches and, once they've managed to find enough people near the location of the rifts, drop them hints. Belphegor can't do much with his body, but Jack's powerful enough to modify it, or at least make it look different to everyone watching, so they’ll be fine with making sure they’re not going to get recognized. They can run into the hunters, pretend to ask for help, or just talk loud enough to be overheard. If they encounter any demon, they're to talk to them and try to get them on their side. 

Adam and Michael are to warn them if the Winchesters are leaving the refuge center. If they are, one of them is to go back to the bunker to check if they're on the way home, and then that lookout is to pray so everyone can come home and pretend they'd just been asleep before either brother knows what’s going on. 

Adam's not proud of it, but - yeah, desperate measures and all. 

“Awww, lookit the widdle Milligan.” Belphegor pinches his cheek. He hisses like a cat. He's not proud of that either, but he's in his _twelve-year-old _body. 

“I hate you. Go away.”

His voice sounds so _small._

“He's already mastered the innate hatred twelve-year-olds have for everything around them.” Belphegor nods approvingly. “You're gonna do great, little guy.”

“I am just about as old as you, I spent time in the Cage, _hello?”_

“You're twelve.”

Adam stomps on his foot. Belphegor, having crouched down, falls back on his ass. He slaps a hand on his mouth to prevent himself from screaming and giving away their location. They're hiding on the roof right now. 

Jack grimaces. Adam smugly backs off, straightening his oversized jacket. Michael just looks on, prim and proper somehow, arms folded behind his back. 

“You're even a little shit,” Belphegor says, standing and limping a few steps away from him. “Perfect.”

“I'm gonna commit to the role and kick you in the nuts next,” Adam says. 

“Focus,” Michael says before it can devolve into a full-out brawl. “Does everyone remember what they need to do?”

Jack nods. Belphegor gives him a thumbs up. 

“Yeah,” Adam says. There's only so many things that can go wrong but this is better than nothing. 

“Good,” Michael says. “If anything happens, remember to pray to either me or Jack.” He motions to Adam. “In a pinch, try Adam.”

“How does that work again?” Belphegor asks. “I know you've said this before, but I wasn't listening.”

“Our time in The Cage wasn't kind to either of us, and more than once, I have had to pour my Grace to patch up parts of Adam's soul. As such, my Grace is a part of him even if it is still identifiably mine,” Michael says. 

“Oh, right. You both fit in one body when you got here,” Belphegor says. “He's essentially patchwork nephilim.”

Adam snorts. Sam and Dean prefer calling it a corrupted soul, but whatever, he doesn't give a shit about what they call the state of his soul right now. 

“Make sure not to get separated,” Michael says. “Defend yourselves when you need to; safety is still top priority. Stay clear of Chuck if he _somehow _is there. Alright?”

“Alright,” the rest of them say in unison. Michael nods. 

“Stay alert, stay safe,” he says. He motions to the door behind them, leading to the stairwell downstairs. It clicks unlocked and swings open. “And… good luck. Since that's on the table, apparently.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jack opens his eyes. 

It's dark around him. Very dark that he doesn't know how he's looking at things, really, because there is still a yawning space in front of him, and he can tell that this yawning space stretches on and on. He can see his hands when he holds them out in front of him, like there's still light around him, but when he looks about, there's nothing. 

He stands. The blackness underneath him ripples. 

“Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?”

Jack turns around. He smiles, inclining his head downward as a greeting. “Hello.”

The Empty, wearing his face, doesn't look as pleased as him. 

“You know I don't like being woken up, Jack,” it says. 

“Weren't you already awake?” he asks. “I thought you haven't been able to sleep since I resurrected Cas.”

“You and your brood have a knack for trouble,” it says. “Talk, before I drown you.”

“I need your help,” Jack says. 

It raises an eyebrow. “I gave you a body, wasn't that enough?”

“You told me to fix things, and I think I might have an idea on how,” he says. “But I need your help.”

“I don't think I'm going to like this, so I'm going to preemptively say no. Goodbye, Jack.” 

“If we don't fix the rifts, then the whole universe is going to collapse,” Jack says. The Empty, having already started to turn away, pauses. “You're part of this universe, aren't you?”

“I am a foundational aspect of it, yes,” it says. “But that is exactly why I have to protect my domain. This universe is already collapsing. Take another pillar away and something _will _break.”

“Can’t you exist without what’s in The Empty?” Jack asks. “And also, isn’t that kind of defeating the point of being an _Empty?”_

“You realize being a smartass is going to get you kicked out of here faster?”

Jack grins. He shouldn’t be, but he does it anyway. 

“Explain it to me,” Jack says.

“I don’t have to.”

“Please?”

“Why must you Winchesters always stick your noses into things they don’t belong in,” The Empty says, “You are already in the land of the living. That should be enough. You do not fix something from your end by tearing up another place entirely.”

“We need the angels to balance out Heaven,” Jack says. “It’s fading. And it’s not tearing this place up, it’s just setting the balance right, because Heaven was always supposed to be _there, _right?”

The Empty turns around to face him, raising an eyebrow. It’s listening. Jack plows on.

“Heaven and Hell are just two of the things that hold up the universe. We’re not destroying this void, we’re just setting the balance right. If we do that, wouldn’t that theoretically strengthen the universe a little?” Jack asks.

The Empty clicks its tongue. “You would strengthen it on one end, but not the other. The defect is not on Heaven’s part - even if it is, in fact, waning in strength. The defect is the connection between Earth and Hell. Fix that.”

“Nothing’s wrong with fixing Heaven along the way,” Jack says.

“Then fix that too, but without my help.”

“Why?” Jack asks. “You want me to fix the universe, but you won’t give up the grace here, even if it will help. That doesn’t make much sense, doesn’t it?”

“Everything has its own time, Jack,” The Empty says, almost sighing. “Everything has to be in someplace when it needs to be, to begin when it needs to, and to end when it needs to. It is the natural order of things. Straying from this causes problems.”

Jack pauses. “Like the universe collapsing in on itself?”

“It’s a cyclical argument,” The Empty says. “If you want, imagine the universe as a big machine - ”

“The boys and I talked about it. The whole ‘universe runs by everything that makes it up’ conversation, I mean,” Jack says. 

“Miraculous of your family to have more brain cells than I expected.”

“It’s just the one, we toss it around,” Jack says. “And we had Michael and Belphegor, really, they know all about this.”

The Empty gives him a curious look. “I...see,” it says. Then, “Jack, have you been working with Sam and Dean?”

“No,” Jack says. “Not lately.”

It sighs. “Do you know that the most effective way - ”

“Is to work with them because the universe will always drop the answers in their laps? Yes, I do,” he says. “But we’re trying to avoid Chuck from finding out that we’re trying to stop him.”

“...who?”

Just to be safe, Jack mouths, ‘God’. The Empty presses its fingers into a steeple, raises it up to its face - right in front of its nose - and takes a deep breath. 

“Of course. Alright. Nice. Very cool,” it says, “Explain to me what you and your friends are trying to achieve, please, and whether or not the idiocy is worth it.”

“We’re going to try to drop hints so that the Winchesters know what we’re dealing with, so that their natural plot convenience - ”

The Empty snorts.

“ - will work out a solution. Hopefully, anyway - don’t snort.”

“I’m just appreciative of the fact that I’m not the only one suffering through this whole shitshow. I’ve had a lot to catch up with ever since I’ve woken up. Continue.”

“While that’s going on, we’re gonna try to deal with the mess that’s going on with the ghosts and the demons loose,” Jack says. “We might not have enough hunters.”

“But angels might do the trick?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “And we’re gonna try to rally the demons too, in case that falls through, and in case you don’t agree. But we’re not sure if we’re going to have much luck with that.”

The Empty nods. “Mm. Me neither.”

“Yeah.” Jack shifts, awkward. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Will you help?”

“No.”

“_What? _Why?”

“There is a balance to be kept, Jack.” The Empty suddenly lifts a cane that Jack’s sure hadn’t been in its hand before. It taps the end of it to the space where its feet are resting, and the blackness underneath it ripples. “All these angels’ deaths are within the bounds of the universe’s structural integrity. If they were not, it would have caved in on itself by now.”

Jack splutters. “So - so what, Heaven’s really just supposed to be near death or something?”

“Yes, if you haven’t heard, it’s the concept of actions having consequences,” The Empty says. “The universe honors that.”

“But - ” Jack grapples for something. Anything. 

Fate exists, that much is true, at least in the form of Chuck writing out his horrible stories and having them happen. It’s the script. It’s the play that’s set in front of them, and if they deviate from the script then the guys behind the scenes are going to try to set them back on track as much as they can. Jack only has a bigger semblance of freedom because the spotlight isn’t on him. He’s not a main character. He’s just a side tool.

“But aren’t they just side characters?” he asks. The Empty tilts its head. “Aren’t they just there to be in the background, like, less important than Sam and Dean? There has to be a way to bring them back without complications.”

The Empty is silent for a moment. It looks down, tapping the cane down with a click again. “I see,” it says. Jack frowns, and then suddenly The Empty isn’t in front of him anymore.

“Let me explain something, Jack,” it says. Jack whirls around to see that it’s behind him now, walking away, cane clicking on the water with an echo and a ripple. It stops walking. Then it lifts the cane and tilts it forward so that its hand slides down to the cane’s other end. Very slowly, it touches the handle - it looks like a carving of two beings, one in silver, the other in black, both intertwined - onto the black surface.

The floor lights up, starting from the point of contact and spreading out. Jack takes a step back in surprise, and he stares as he looks down at the faint lights underneath him. They look like stars. 

Angels, he realizes. And demons. Latent energy, Michael had said. They’re all energy, in this place.

“This universe is a farce and a playhouse,” The Empty says. “But it is _still_ a universe, and it has rules.”

It turns to him. It’s still wearing his face, but the expression on it is blank, in a way he’s never seen himself do in a mirror before. Belphegor always looks carefully bored, very thinly guarded so no one ever really knows what he’s thinking, even if everyone knows he’s just acting. Jack wears his emotions on his sleeve. The Empty looks like a parent explaining something incredibly unfortunate to its child.

Oh. 

It looks like how people who can’t do anything look like, Jack realizes.

“A universe is made up of several things. One, a substance to compose it. Two, a force to keep it evolving. Three, a sink to accept the evolution,” it says, and then pauses. “In simple terms, it needs whatever is going to make up everything in it, whatever is going to keep it moving and living and changing so that it can even _be _a universe, and the result of this living and changing.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you know how the universe was created?”

Jack thinks through everything he’s read. “Yes.”

“Before that, there was wind and chaos,” The Empty says. “And water.”

Jack looks down. His footsteps cause tiny ripples on where he’s standing. Oh. _Oh. _

“The state of nothing,” The Empty says. “And then from the nothing came the something. Humans called it the _Big Bang, _I believe, and from it came everything in existence.”

_A substance to compose it. _Stardust. Atoms. The same things breaking and forming over and over and over again. Jack remembers reading about it in the bunker library. 

“Things were formed from it, shaped and guided and created,” The Empty says. “But a self-regulating universe has to have something that keeps it moving. Things aren’t supposed to stay stagnant, otherwise, what you’ll have is just an empty dollhouse. Wouldn’t be _self-regulating _otherwise. It doesn’t have to be one thing either. This universe has plenty of things that keeps it moving.” The Empty points down to the water. “Heaven. Hell. Chaos. Free will.”

Jack looks up.

“But therein lies the catch,” The Empty says. “Because this universe is still a story, as you say, so that factors in it too, and how can all these things exist while still being controlled? When it’s paradoxical?”

“Free will,” Jack mumbles. “The play is just scenarios laid in front of people and free will is how they choose their paths.”

“It’s like a game.” The Empty nods. “But a game has rules and a universe has rules to follow. Rules of logic. Rules of structural integrity. If a body fails, whatever it used to be dies. And if it dies, then it goes to where its energy is going to be kept and recycled and continue to fuel the universe, thus feeding the neverending machine.” 

“The sink,” Jack says. “The result.”

“Exactly. You can hardly do something and not expect consequences,” The Empty says. “These places, these sinks, they have governing bodies to keep them in line, even if they may not always be very obvious. Purgatory, for example. Monsters are kept in line by creating this free-for-all environment. If they get bored, well, one way or another, predator or prey will fall on their path.”

Jack nods, letting the information sink in.

“Hell is Hell, Heaven is Heaven,” The Empty says. It casts its eyes down again. For a moment, Jack sees its eyes change. They look like black holes. Not the usual ink dark of demon eyes. Like black holes. Like nothing could ever get away from them. “The Empty is me. This is my responsibility. This is under my accountability. If I don’t play my role in this universe - ”

“It’ll collapse.”

“Why do you think Heaven is in the shape that it is?” The Empty asks. “It takes one thing. One decision. One tiny thing that ricochets and suddenly everything is spiralling out of control. Heaven was supposed to be a pillar of this universe, but angels like Castiel and Gabriel and Balthazar and Anael existed, and then everything went to shit. And they couldn’t fall back on the safety net of them being important to the universe because of free will.”

“Consequence.”

“We’d be living like animals without it.” The Empty shrugs. “To my knowledge, everyone on your side of existence already does.”

“Then why did you throw Castiel down?” Jack asks. “Why throw _me _down?”

“A calculated risk,” The Empty says. “And your dad was annoying the shit out of me.”

Jack snorts this time.

“You were a special case. I exist in this universe as well. I would like to keep on doing so,” it says. “And so you were thrown down, the most powerful weapon this universe has.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’m what?”

“You’re the only living nephilim on Earth,” The Empty says. “If there was another one matching your abilities, I wouldn’t have bothered with you.”

“Wow. I thought I was special.”

The Empty _laughs. _Maybe Jack’s been hanging out too much with Belphegor and Adam. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, boy, you were the most convenient thing within reach,” it says. It sobers up a minute later. “If I give you all the angels, then you could wreak havoc all over creation. There’s a reason why most of them are dead. Infighting. War. Generally being pompous asses, I’m also told, not to mention tight sticklers to their Father’s plan. Don’t want to see how that goes down for you.”

Jack winces. It’s right. If they resurrect the angels, many of them might side with Chuck instead. 

But. 

“But we have Michael,” he says. “He used to lead Heaven.”

“You have a broken archangel who’s only really half an archangel at the moment,” The Empty says. “Castiel used to lead a garrison. Where’s his authority now?”

Jack shuts his mouth. 

“These are not things you can simply do on a whim, Jack Kline.” The Empty sighs again. “You risk plenty of things with every action you take. The universe is not in a good place to regulate itself right now, you cannot trust it to keep on doing things for the sake of itself when it can barely stand on its own two feet.” The Empty pauses. “Not to mention...Chuck...will likely notice the surge of angels suddenly returning.”

Something goes off in Jack’s brain. Something very loud and very bright, and sounds suspiciously like an oven going _ding! _but that might be because that’s the sound effect they use for lightbulb moments in the cartoons he and Belphegor watch when they’re bored.

The universe can barely stand on its own two feet. If they resurrect the angels, they can give it a bit more strength and time, but they just have to make sure to be able to wrangle and convince the feathered bastards to actually help. They need a lot more insurance than just Michael. And they need to find a way to make sure Chuck doesn’t notice. 

He doesn’t have a game plan right now, _but. _

But he has this. 

He looks up at The Empty with a slight amount of awe. It gives him a wry smile that’s barely there for the smallest of seconds.

“Good luck with your world-saving, Jack Kline,” The Empty says. It taps its cane on the floor. The lights go out. “Hopefully you’ll come up with something much better soon.”

Sneaky bastard. Jack grins.

“I’ll try,” he says. He starts to close his eyes, intent on focusing on yanking himself out of the place, but then snaps them back open. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“If Sam and Dean ask you to help, would you say yes?”

The Empty laughs again, like it’s the funniest thing it’s heard in years. It likely is. “I’m not an idiot, Jack,” it says, but that wry smile is back again. “But if the universe just happens to want to survive that bad, who am I to say no, right? Humans are the ones who are supposed to have free will. Everything else is arguable, but the concrete pillars of the universe? Doubtful.”

“Oh god, you’re a bastard like the rest of us.”

“Shoo on before you’re late to kindergarten,” it says. “Get off my lawn.”

Jack laughs. “See you around then, old thing.”

And then he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LATEST EP REALLY SAID MIDAM RIGHTS AND I AM L I V I N G OH MY G O D


	5. Chapter 5

Belphegor had snapped a memory of the woman and her daughter into Adam and Michael’s minds, so all that’s left is for them to find her. Unfortunately, this is better said than done in a school filled with the entire town’s population. 

Adam knows what the woman looks like, but as he stands at the hallway overlooking the lobby, looking out at the faces of the people in front of him, every face just seems to be unrecognizable to him in a way that he can tell they have faces but he can’t really _see _them. 

He blinks and rubs at his eyes. Maybe there’s something wrong with this body.

“Is everything okay?” Michael asks.

“I can’t see their faces properly,” Adam says. “I know they’re faces, but I just...can’t see that they’re faces.”

“Ah,” Michael says. “I have the same problem.”

Adam looks up. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I _can _tell apart souls though,” Michael says. Adam sticks his tongue out as Michael starts to grin. 

“Lucky you,” Adam says.

“I believe this is because I don’t make it a habit to galavant about Earth,” Michael says. “You might be experiencing the same thing from spending so long in the Cage.”

“Oh.” Adam thinks about it for a moment. He shrugs. At the very least, he can still recognize Sam and Dean and Cas, although it might be because he’s seen them before he fell into Hell. He smacks his own cheeks lightly. “Alright, can you tell where the mom is?”

“I’m trying,” Michael says, looking about the area. Adam stands on his toes to try to get a better vantage point. It doesn’t help. He pouts as he shifts his weight back onto his heels.

Being twelve sucks.

“Winchesters incoming,” Michael says. 

Adam spots his brothers pushing open the school entrance and immediately grabs Michael’s sleeve/ They slip back into the hallway, hiding.

Great. He’s not sure if they’ll recognize his face when it’s twelve, but he’s not taking that chance.

“Did you see the mom?” he asks.

“No, she might not be in the room,” Michael says.

“Let’s go check the other ones, then.” Adam pauses. “Wait, what about the gym? There’s a lot of people there.”

Michael nods. “Good idea.”

They find the nearest building map tacked to a wall and head for the gym as soon as they figure out where to go. The few people walking around that see them rushing down the hallways are thankfully not paying them any mind, letting them pass by without so much as a glance. Being a kid lends to the advantage of being unassuming, apparently. 

There’s too many people in the gym. The whole area is full, even the bleachers. Adam winces as his brain fails to register what everyone looks like again. Everyone’s just blurring together for him.

“There,” Michael says, pointing one tiny hand towards the leftside bleachers. Adam cannot recognize who he’s pointing to. “It’s her.”

“Lead the way, big guy, I can’t tell these people apart for shit.”

Michael does, careful not to let him go as they start to weave their way through the crowd. They both make sure not to seem like they’re in a hurry. The plan is to make it so that they’re being overheard, after all, not like they’re approaching someone deliberately. 

Adam coughs lightly as he starts up his act. “I’m telling you, that was a ghost.”

“Ghosts don’t exist,” Michael says. Adam is suddenly struck with the sudden need to burst out laughing at hearing that from him. “It was just an earthquake.”

“It was not an earthquake,” Adam says. He looks up and tries to see if he can recognize who they’re looking for. It’s easier making out people’s faces up close, but he still can’t pinpoint the mom. He just looks to Michael instead. _We close?_

_She’s sitting a few feet away. White shirt that says AMAZING THINGS WILL HAPPEN, brown khakis. _

Adam searches for the shirt. He finds it. The lady is only a few paces away. He raises his voice a little and hopes it carries over the faint murmur of people moving about and talking.

“And you saw that weird clown guy,” he says. 

The lady in the shirt seems to freeze. She turns to them.

“Probably some drunk guy,” Michael says.

“He had a knife.”

“A really drunk guy.”

“Who had a _knife?”_

“Maybe he was from a birthday party.”

“That was not a cake knife, that was a kitchen knife,” Adam says, hoping to god that Wayne Gacy really was holding a kitchen knife. Belphegor’s only told them that the lady and kid got chased but not if Gacy was running at them with a machete or anything. “And that was so a ghost.”

“Why didn’t he look wispy, then?” Michael asks, because he’s already dramatic and has this down and cinema lost a star when Chuck decided that he was going to be an archangel instead of a human actor. “And why didn’t he look dead?”

Adam pauses. “Mike, he looked like he crawled out a grave and a sewer at the same time.”

They’re really close to the woman. Michael starts to climb up the bleachers and helps pull Adam up with him. 

“He probably fell over a lot,” Michael says.

The lady is staring at them. Adam can tell because he’s having a hard time climbing up onto the second step of the bleachers and she’s only about three feet away from him. 

“What about that earthquake in the cemetery, then?” Adam asks.

“Didn’t you hear? There was a chemical leak,” Michael says. “Some pipe probably burst under from there.”

“Since when did chemicals have faces when they escaped from a crack in the earth?” Adam says. “I’m betting those are ghosts. A _lot _of ghosts. I bet there’s more ghosts than there are people here.” 

Michael grabs onto his other arm and pulls him up, finally, because he’s genuinely having a hard time. Stupid tiny twelve-year-old legs.

_Is it working? _He sends at Michael. 

_A bit, I believe, _Michael sends back.

_Do you think you should give her a little push? _Adam asks, _You know, let her believe us just a bit?_

_If it comes to it. But she’s listening. If all goes well, we won’t even have to talk to her, we just have to let her find the evidence for herself and then go tell the Winchesters, _Michael thinks. Out loud, he says, “I’m sure, Addie.”

“No, look, I tried looking it up,” Adam says. “Nothing on the news about a chemical leak. Nothing. And isn’t it funny that there’s literally nobody with cameras who’s come here?”

Michael raises an eyebrow at him as if he’s actually questioning what Adam’s saying.

“There was a huge earthquake. No news. There’s a chemical leak that had everyone evacuate, but there’s zero coverage,” Adam says, and then pauses and gives Michael a meaningful look because he can’t turn and look at the woman directly to check if she’s listening.

_Go on, _Michael says.

“Something’s fishy,” Adam says. “And I tried to look it up, like maybe the chemical leak causes hallucinations or something. And I found some news, right on the recommended feed, that there was this huge earthquake in Chicago.”

Jack had showed them the news. He knows where the rips are. 

“Big thing. Some people said they saw the ghosts of their dead loved ones too,” Adam says.

“Could be a hallucination,” Michael says.

“Yeah, but the same thing happened in Cairo.”

“Illinois?”

“No, Egypt,” Adam moves to Michael’s side and sits. He can see the lady from here, from his peripheral. She’s listening, and she’s trying not to seem like she is. “And there was a couple more articles about it from France too. And the UK. And Brazil. And all over, basically.” He waves his hands around, exaggerating. “Same thing. Huge earthquake. Ghosts of the dead.”

“Your point is?”

“That something big’s happening and it’s not just in this town,” Adam says, conspiratorial while Michael is staring at him with a straight, unimpressed face. “And that clown guy we saw was a ghost.”

“Of who?”

“I don’t know, some clown murderer?”

“...that penny guy?”

Adam wrinkles his nose. _Too many movies, Michael._

_You and the others insist on it. _

“No, John Wayne Gacy.”

_Aren’t you supposed to be twelve? _Michael asks.

_Shut up, some kids have weird habits and this mom is only going to know us for like a day, _Adam throws back.

“Okay,” Michael asks. “Where is he, then? We haven’t seen him or any ghost in a while.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s somewhere else,” Adam says. “And _aha! _You admit it’s a ghost.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not,” Michael says. 

Adam just haughtily raises his head and looks out onto the crowd, making sure to glance at the lady as he does. 

She looks down and away, and this time Adam turns to her. Michael does as well. Adam pushes at the grace in his soul a bit, borrowing a bit of power and skirting around the woman’s emotions, lightly touching it to get a feel.

Worry. Concern for her daughter. Anxiety. An impulse to tell the two weird men and that guy in the glasses. 

Adam lets go of the grace, sitting back and leaning on his weight on his palms. 

“We just have to make sure the news spreads to the hunters,” Michael says quietly. 

Adam pauses. Well. The initial plan is to just have the woman tell Sam and Dean, but they can spread the news a little faster by being talkative little gremlins, right?

He turns to Michael, who meets his gaze like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. He probably does. They’ve developed a bit of a synchronicity ever since he’s gone patchwork nephilim. 

“Wanna go run around campus?” Adam asks.

Michael lifts a shoulder. “Why not?”

* * *

Jack opens his eyes in the bathtub and sits up, gasping in a breath. 

Belphegor immediately pulls the drain plug and snaps his fingers. The lights turn on. He hands Jack the towel he’s been holding for the past hour.

“So?” he asks. 

Jack dries his face, pausing to gasp in air again every few seconds or so. Holding your breath for an hour will do that. He gets his breath to steady before he answers. “Well.”

“Did the Empty agree?”

“No,” Jack says. He holds a hand out. Belphegor smacks it in a high five and immediately feels the memory reel rush at him, building a headache between his eyes that’s gone in the next blink. He shakes his head as the tinnitus fades away. 

“Okay, so the Empty took your essay and handed it back with red marks,” he says. “What do we do?”

“We need to find a way to make sure Chuck doesn’t notice that we’re working with the Empty,” Jack says. “He’s going to feel the angels coming back, so we need to make sure the initial surge of power _and _the steady feeling of power is undetectable.”

“Hm.” Belphegor sits on the edge of the bathtub, thinking. Jack decides being soaked sucks and snaps his fingers. All the water still in the bathtub and still clinging to him vanishes. 

The initial surge of power they can probably cover up. Continuously covering it up and making sure nobody notices is the tricky part, especially over a longer period of time. They either need to resurrect the angels as a last resort or immediately end this clownshow after they’ve resurrected everybody.

“You got any ideas?” Belphegor asks.

Jack shrugs. “I mean, Donatello could feel it when I got thrown down here. I highly doubt resurrecting an angel could get past Chuck.”

“You’re a nephilim, though,” Belphegor says. “I don’t think every single angel is going to ping Chuck’s radar.”

They share a look for a while.

“That’s an idea, huh?” Belphegor asks.

“Yeah, although I’m not sure about which angels are powerful or not.”

“Don’t worry, we got you,” Belphegor says. “We can resurrect lower-tier angels bit by bit. If we space it out, we can probably slip by undetected since the shift in power would be so slow that no one probably wouldn’t notice.”

“Heaven would ask questions, though, because we can’t just let the angels run around. They might help Chuck,” Jack says. 

“Oh, true, and we can’t hide them here either,” Belphegor says. “Michael?”

“Our best bet,” Jack says. “If he can convince them to help us and to stay on Earth, we might be able to stabilize Heaven _and _keep them away from helping Chuck.”

“If they don’t betray us.”

“And if it does stabilize Heaven, even from afar.”

“Eh, it will, angels have been here in droves before. Heaven hadn’t been on the verge of collapse when they did. I think,” Belphegor says. He waves a hand. “It’ll be fine. Then we can work our way up to the higher-tier angels.”

Jack pauses. 

“Kid?”

“Could we resurrect someone from here if they died from another universe?” Jack asks. 

It’s Belphegor’s turn to pause. Jack is looking down at the floor, quiet and downcast.

“I don’t know this story,” Belphegor says, making an effort to sound gentle. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away. He leans back on the bathtub. “I met my uncle, Gabriel,” Jack says. “He was nice. A little chaotic and messy, but overall, he just wanted to have fun and he wanted to help.”

He goes silent again. Belphegor waits for him to continue. 

“He did not like my father,” Jack says. “Lucifer, I mean. He was fine with Cas.”

“That’s a change,” Belphegor says.

Jack snorts. “Yeah, he was - he liked humanity. Liked the world.” The boy motions with a hand. “There was a reason the Winchesters liked him and worked with him. He went with them when they tried to rescue us from Apocalypse-world.”

“You and their mom, right? If I’ve heard correctly?”

Jack nods. “Mary and I were helping people from the other side. The plan was to get everyone here, let them regroup and replan and then they could go back and reclaim their world from the angels in the other universe, so they were getting everyone,” Jack says. “Michael caught us. He killed Gabriel.”

Belphegor nods, understanding. 

“And then Lucifer sold us out,” Jack says. He scoffs. “Bastard.”

“No love lost there?”

“He stole my grace and left me for dead.”

“Ah,” Belphegor says. 

“Hmm.” Jack looks down, going silent again. After a while, when neither of them say anything, he starts wringing the towel in his hand, only slightly damp. 

Belphegor clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Well,” he says, “None of us really know our fathers.”

Jack bursts out laughing, and Belphegor snickers. 

“Thanks,” Jack says, after his laughter calms down.

“No problem, kid,” Belphegor says. “I mean, this household really is just a couple of dudes who got screwed over by their dads.” He kicks one foot back and forth. “The Winchesters. Cas and Michael. You.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I guess.” He looks up at Belphegor. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you get screwed over?”

Belphegor hums, thinking about it for a moment. He shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

Jack blinks. “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Belphegor says. “I’ve been down here for so long I can hardly remember how Heaven looks like, let alone feels like.” He draws in a breath. “Much less what the Father was like.”

“Oh,” Jack says, looking down. 

“It happens,” Belphegor says. “Sometimes shit gets horrible enough that you just start doing things because you have to do things, you know? It’s something to do, something to keep you moving, but the thing is that none of it sticks to your memory and even when you want it to, it doesn’t anyway.” He lifts a shoulder in a shrug again. “Funny how that works sometimes.”

Belphegor takes off his glasses for a moment. He doesn’t really need them around Jack, but it’s habit to have them on at this point. He scratches between his empty eye sockets, trying to get an itch out. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says.

Belphegor stops. He lowers his hand. “Hardly your fault,” he says. “Besides, no harm done. Can’t remember, can’t be traumatized further by it, right?”

He laughs. He puts his glasses back on. “Anyway, we can just ask the Empty if we can resurrect your uncle. If it can’t then, we can ask if it can connect to all the other Empties across reality. If not, ask Billie or something,” he says. “If we can slow-cooker this resurrection approach and make sure everyone’s following Michael, then we can do this. Next step would be to make sure that all the demons are rounded up, the ghosts are taken care of, and the rifts are closed.”

“How do we take care of the ghosts?” Jack asks.

“Beats me, but if we can get angels and demons on our side? That sounds easy,” Belphegor says. “It’s just the rifts that are the problem, then.”

“Yeah…” Jack says. He looks up at the ceiling and doesn’t say anything for a while.

“You thinking about something, kid?” Belphegor asks.

“I…” Jack frowns. He sits up. “What if _I _can close the rifts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still forever thankful for SPN canonically validating me and my headcanons. What a good 2019 gift. See y'all on the other side.


	6. Chapter 6

The Winchesters get called away for something. Which is good, since it gives Adam and Michael more time to gossip around like they're not actually discreetely stirring up low-level panic, but it's also not a good sign because it means things are getting worse out there. 

Adam doesn't even know what's out there, aside from what he's heard. 

Michael, beside him - as they've both decided to sit down in the infirmary and take a break from running around - opens his eyes. He's been trying to tune in to the conversations around the building. 

“You got anything?” Adam asks. 

“Someone's gone missing,” Michael says. 

“Again?”

“They keep trying to get back into town, see what's really going on. The hunters haven't exactly said anything other than there’s a gas leak and that they're working on it. The civilians are finding it dubious.” He lifts a shoulder. “People will keep going back unless they explain the actual problem. I think they've been too busy. Sam's being stretched thin.”

“And Dean's having a crisis, not that I blame him.” Adam winces. Must be hard finally getting told to your face you're a guinea pig in an electric cage. “Anything we can do?”

“The plan is to spread the news of the rifts, I think we've done it,” Michael says. He motions to a man holding a tablet, hurriedly approaching a friend. “We've spread the news without blowing it up in their faces. They'll deal with the shock and the panic in their own pace instead of reacting to something sprung up on them. By tomorrow, everyone in the vicinity might even know.”

“Next step?” 

“We should regroup with Belphegor and Jack,” Michael says. “Ask them how they've been doing on their end. If they haven't found a way to convince The Empty yet, they should keep at it and we'll take over spreading the information to hunters.”

“Alright,” Adam says. “I cannot _wait_ to be back in my regular body.”

“If Belphegor doesn't decide to be petty.”

Adam sneers into the air, imagining the demon's glee at being able to just pinch Adam’s face and baby-talk at him for fun. 

Michael chuckles. “Jack won't forsake you.”

“True,” Adam says. “Poor kid's gotta be roped into saving the world, huh, after he already got drafted into a war in another one?”

Michael nods a little too late. He hums. “And he lost everyone from there,” he says.

Adam sobers up. “I can't imagine the heartbreak from that,” he says. “Those people deserved better. And poor kid, he spent a year with them and fought with them, and just... “

“And nothing got easier after coming back here either,” Michael says. 

They both sit in silence for a while. 

“Do you think,” Michael says, hesitantly. Adam turns to him, because Michael rarely says anything hesitantly. “That if we defeat my father, it will all stop?”

“What will? The monsters?”

Michael nods. “The bloodshed. The… everything. This world was built around Sam and Dean and was created for the entertainment of one person. If that person is gone, then… does it stop? Do things go normal?”

Adam leans back on his hands. He looks up the ceiling for a bit, thinking. “Well, I mean, what's normal for this world?” he asks. "It was made to exist around two people and the story of those two people is that they fight monsters. Isn’t that also a fundamental point to a story? The conflict?”

Michael snorts. “Chuck is the conflict this time, isn’t he?” He shakes his head. “But you’re right. Even so, this universe is still real. Still affected by cause and effect - there’d still be monsters. Maybe the hunts will get a little more spaced out. Maybe it’ll get quieter. But there will always be monsters. They’ve got their own free will too, I think we figured that out a long time ago.”

“The whole ‘no free will’ thing was bullshit, yeah,” Adam says. “Free will’s always been there.”

He raises a fist towards Michael, who looks at it for a second, smiles, and bumps it with his own. 

“We’ll find a way around it, Michael,” Adam says. “We will. Sam and Dean will, most definitely, they’re this entire universe’s immune system and it’s gonna do its damn best to help them, isn’t it?”

Michael laughs. He nods. “Yeah,” he says. Then he pauses and lifts his head a bit. “Belphegor’s praying. Jack’s back.”

“Time to head back into the bunker?”

Michael nods. He grabs Adam’s hand. 

In the next blink, not that anyone is paying attention, neither of them are there.

* * *

“We have talked about this,” Belphegor says, pacing back and forth. 

“Yes, but,” Jack says, “What if it’s our only chance to fix it before it gets worse?”

“Then we find _another _way to seal the rifts _without putting you in danger,” _Belphegor says. He stops and then goes around the table, as Jack is sitting by it, and places himself on Jack’s chair’s armrest. He slings an arm around Jack’s shoulders. “Listen, Jackie-boy - ”

Jack wrinkles his nose. “I told you not to call me that.”

“ - do you think I want those rifts open? No, I don’t. There’s like several hundred demons out there that would kill me if they saw me and those rifts being open is making it easier for them to find me. _Plus, _if all those ghosts and demons get out, they’re likely going to ruin every diner on the planet because where else would you get a steady number of people to torture every day? They’re gonna ruin everything I love about this floating rock,” he says. He gets off the armrest so he can sit on the floor and point an accusing finger at Jack. “But you are _not _going to throw away the plan and give all our locations away by sealing those rifts yourself.”

“What if I do it alone, somewhere else?”

“Chuck will trace it back to us. The objective is to keep a low profile, Jack, we will not jeopardize the mission. We have one shot.”

“He’s also attached to you,” a little voice says. Jack turns to see Michael and Adam standing across the table from him. 

“You shut the fuck up, Milligan,” Belphegor says, swinging the accusing finger at Adam. Adam just raises an eyebrow.

“He did pray,” Michael says. “What’s this about jeopardizing the mission?”

Belphegor points back to Jack. “He - ”

“What if _I _closed the rifts?” Jack asks. 

Michael and Adam frown in perfect unison, heads tilting to the side together. “Jack,” they say.

“Hah!” Belphegor says, vindicated, dropping his arm in favor of leaning his weight back on it as he sits on the floor. 

“If you use your powers in direct interference against Chuck’s will and on that big a scale, you _will _attract his attention,” Michael says. “Which will put this whole operation in danger.”

“It’ll also put everyone in danger. Chuck might throw an even bigger temper tantrum,” Adam says, a little more soothingly. “I get what you’re feeling, kid, and I get where you’re coming from - closing the rifts would mean not putting the world in more danger of ghosts and demons crawling out of Hell.”

Jack nods.

“But it’s also going to put everyone in danger for the long-term,” Adam says. “If we blow this, we lose.”

Jack falls silent for a moment. Then he nods. “Okay,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. He smiles, a little strained, but accepting nonetheless. “No closing the rifts.”

“We’ll close them, but sneakily,” Adam says, sharing a conspiratorial grin. “Can you bring us back to our old bodies, though?”

“Oh, sure,” Jack says, and then pauses. “Isn’t that expending powers?”

“Not too much,” Michael says. “And Chuck is weak right now, he’ll hardly feel it. This is just biological modification, no more different from healing someone.”

“Oh,” Jack says, a little happier, and snaps his fingers. Michael and Adam, back to normal, stand in front of him, although they’re still wearing bigger versions of their kid outfits, so Adam still looks ridiculous. Belphegor snickers. 

“Shut your demon mouth,” Adam snipes.

“So how’d things go on your end?” Jack asks.

“Smoothly,” Michael says. “People have started looking for news of the rifts opening. By tomorrow, the whole school should be informed.”

“Nice,” Belphegor says.

“And yours?”

“The Empty, uh, saw my essay and handed it back with red marks,” Jack says, wincing.

“So no, but with corrections?” Adam asks.

“It said that if it helped, Chuck would feel it,” Jack says. “We need to find a way to be able to get its help without Chuck noticing.”

“We were thinking of bringing in really weak angels first, and then slowly building it up. If it’s discreet enough, we could try to make it seem like the energy spike is just from the rifts,” Belphegor says.

“Well, any chance of those rifts opening up further?” Adam asks. “If we can time an energy spike to coincide with a resurrection, we might be able to hide it.”

Belphegor and Jack share a look.

“Not a bad idea,” Belphegor says. “Michael?”

“It’s....possible,” he says, motioning with his hands. “The more the universe will start to break down, the more rifts there are going to be. On this earth, and on the rest of what makes up the universe.”

“...you mean to tell me there’s a possibility of the third of the stars falling from the heavens,” Belphegor says. Jack gives him a confused look. “Revelations,” Belphegor says.

“Yes,” Michael says.

“That sounds bad,” Jack says.

“It is,” Michael agrees. “So it will have to be a calculated risk. One, Sam and Dean both have to stay alive and out of danger, but I think Chuck will take care of that, at least until the story ends the way he wants it to. This universe revolves around them, their survival is key.”

Belphegor nods, pulling up the chair beside Jack to clamber onto it. It’s serious discussion time now. He leans forward, arms folded in front of him on the table, that if he’d spared a glance towards Jack, he’d see they were in the exact same position. 

“Two, for every time a rift splits just a bit wider, we bring back an angel so at least one end of the universe’s structure still holds up enough for it to keep existing.”’

“There’s no clean way to solve this,” Jack says, more in resignation that confusion.

Michael nods. “I’m afraid not. Not if we want to have a fighting chance against someone who’s able to manipulate and control the odds.”

“The Empty said something about maybe listening to Sam and Dean,” Jack says. “They’ve got, uh, inevitability - ”

“Plot convenience,” Belphegor says.

“ - plot convenience on their side, after all,” Jack says, and then tries to sound as sarcastic as possible. “It just wouldn’t have a choice if the hunters forced it to do something.”

Adam lets out a laugh. Michael gives the kid a wry smile.

“Perhaps as a last resort,” he says. “Involving Sam and Dean would mean that we’re putting ourselves - ”

Jack sits up, ramrod straight. He turns to Michael. “Dean’s praying.”

“Off the bus,” Adam says, looking up at everyone else.

Jack snaps his fingers as he puts the prayer on the celestial equivalent of loudspeaker for all four of them.

_“Jack we need a little help here,” _Dean says. _“We’re outnumbered. We’re by the barrier right now and - ”_

“Okay,” Jack says, and then snaps his fingers. In one moment, everyone’s at the bunker, and the next, Belphegor is falling on his ass onto grass as the chair underneath him disappears. Adam and Michael as quicker to regain their composure, spotting the pulsing barrier several feet away from them. 

There’s a terrified civilian right by Belphegor’s feet. He has a huge gash on his arm and is shaking hard, screaming when he notices that there’s someone right in front of him.

“Dean!” That’s Jack. Belphegor looks up to see the kid rushing into the barrier, one hand outstretched. A pulse of gold bursts from his hand and blows the specters surrounding the Winchesters into flickering out of sight. 

Both of them stop and look around, postures relaxing once they spot Jack.

Belphegor gets to his feet. Adam rushes over to help the civilian, who’s still trembling, sit up properly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re here to help.”

Deciding to leave the healing to the actual pre-med student and the archangel who’s already making his way beside him, Belphegor steps around them and goes into the barrier, immediately feeling unsafe.

“Where’s Cas?” Jack asks.

“With Rowena,” Sam says, still breathing hard and covered in blood. “They’re fortifying the barrier.”

Jack nods, relieved. “Good.”

“What happened?” Belphegor asks, approaching with a skip in his step that he knows will infuriate Dean.

Judging by the irate look that flashes over the man’s face, it successfully does. Belphegor grins a little wider. “Someone tried to go into town again,” he says. “Tried to see what was really going on.”

Belphegor winces, forced-sympathetic. He turns to where Michael currently has a hand over the civilian’s injured arm, palm lighting in blue, while Adam, at the civilian’s other side, is trying to keep the man calm.

“Well, I guess he’s seen what’s really going on now,” Belphegor says.

Dean huffs. “He already saw what’s out here anyway, we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t tell anyone.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t tell them what’s really going on?” Jack asks. 

Dean pauses. Sam does as well, and both of them share a look.

Dean clicks the safety off his gun. “It’ll likely just make them panic.”

“What if some of the ghosts and demons that didn’t get caught in the barrier attack the school?” Jack asks. “I know the hunters will protect them, but there’s still gonna be a fight, isn’t there?” 

Dean looks like he’s about to argue, but then stops himself. The kid does have a point, and Belphegor steps forward to back it up.

“You can’t make a soul that’s already passed on _pass on again _when it doesn’t have a tether to be destroyed,” Belphegor says. “You might as well arm them all.”

“We could cause a mass panic,” Sam says.

“Not if you explain it properly,” Belphegor says. He motions to the civilian, who’s shrugged off his torn coat to look at his arm in shock, fully healed, not a scratch. “You’ve got a witness.”

“And you have Cas, and me, and Adam and Michael and Bel,” Jack says. “And you’ve got Rowena, a _witch.”_

“Look, we know you guys have a strict policy about letting people live their lives and live it normally,” Belphegor says, waving his hands up as a gesture of goodwilled surrender. Jack has a sway with these people, but he doesn’t, so he has to seem more amiable than usual. “But this is the end of the fucking world, boys, and it’s not some isolated ‘the Winchesters will take care of it’ thing again. There’s no going back to normal from this.”

Sam looks like he’s caving in first, while Dean just stares down Belphegor like he’s trying to figure out what the demon’s getting out of this, which is a smart move, honestly, even if it makes this whole ‘save the world’ thing a little harder. 

“He has a point, Dean,” Sam says.

“We’ll talk about it,” Dean says. He motions to where Adam and Michael are. “Now let’s get back to the school - and by the way, why the _fuck _did all four of you come here? I just asked for Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First posted fic of 2020....noice


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Dean clearly would have liked it more if they were sent back to the bunker, but they currently have a shaken civilian with them and they need to get to the school fast, so they all end up at the school. That, and, well, if they’d been told to go, they’d just fly to the school instead anyway. No one had tried it, thankfully.

Instead, Belphegor’s just dragged a loveseat from the principal’s office and has brought it to the staff break room they’d been told to hole up in, Jack’s listlessly scraping imaginary stains on the table, and Michael is patiently waiting for one of the Winchesters to finally return.

Adam stands at the head of the table, arms behind his back. “Damage report.”

“I’m thinking,” Belphegor starts.

“That indeed is an alarming damage report,” Adam says. “Jack’s poor former brain.”

“Never say that again,” Jack says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Belphegor says, to Adam, “I’m thinking - Chuck’s weak. And that’s like, an advantage but at the same time it’s also not, because if Chuck’s weak, and Jack keeps sending out power flares like that, he can be threatened, and if he’s threatened - “ He waves a hand, and then waits for Adam to pick up the thought.

He does. “He can lash out,” Adam says. “If he’s got enough juice for it.”

Belphegor nods. 

“Do you think Chuck would have felt that?” Jack asks. 

“There’s no telling. We don’t know how weak he is right now,” Michael says.

“Well, let’s just hope,” Adam says. “That seems to be the only thing we have going for us right now. Anything else?”

“We’ve got one civilian who knows about us,” Michael says. “And they’re bound to tell others.”

“If Sam and Dean tell the rest of the civilians what’s really going on, we won’t have to worry about it,” Belphegor says. “And you’ve started making people look into it themselves, anyway, so that might pressure them into telling the truth if enough people start asking.”

“But that plus the trauma of our guy from earlier might mean a more hostile confrontation,” Adam says. “You know how it goes in movies. Civilians side with civilians. The guys who generally know more about the situation are immediately sus. If push comes to shove, you know how people form cliques over it.”

“Yeah, which is why we should convince them it’s a better idea to just tell people,” Belphegor says. “This is a all-hands-on-deck situation, even the civilians need to be on board for this.”

Michael opens his mouth, thinks better about it, and makes a ‘nevermind’ motion with his hand.

“No, wait, what is it?” Adam asks.

“It’s, well,” Michael pauses again, hesitating. “Faith. That can be a weapon for the civilians. Lesser deities exist and thrive off of faith. We were planning on contacting deities weren’t we?”

“Oh, yeah,” Belphegor says, “If they don’t agree with the first point of them also ceasing to exist if the universe murks itself, we can bribe them with worship.”

“If we get the civilians on board,” Michael says. “Remember there’s been literal wars over this.”

“Yeah, true.” Belphegor huffs, disappointed, sinking back into his seat. “Shame.”

Adam sits on the edge of the table, sighing. “Yeah, shame,” he says. “The urgency of the situation might make it easier, but, yeah, we don’t need infighting right now. Best to just keep everyone else safe right now.”

“Mm, and another thing,,” Michael says. “Say Chuck’s felt Jack’s power - it’s not the first time he’s used it but it might be the first time it’s risen beyond low levels that it can be felt as a nephilim’s energy or can be seen as a threat. If nothing happens in a few days, and if Chuck’s still strong enough to wipe Jack out but he’s not doing anything about it, then what do we do?”

“Isn’t that a windfall?” Belphegor asks.

“Not if it’s Chuck. If he’s strong enough to wipe Jack out but isn’t doing anything about it despite the fact that Jack feels like a threat, then something’s up,” Michael says. “And last I’ve been briefed, he’s on good terms with my aunt right now.”

“Oh, shit, I missed that, when was that?” Belphegor asks.

“You were sniffing the scented gel pens you stole from the store because you thought the glitter looked nice, probably,” Adam says. “We asked Sam and Dean when were were trying to get a feel for what was going on since we’ve been in the Cage.”

“Ah, okay.” Belphegor pauses. “The fucking Darkness is out?”

“Yes,” Adam says.

“Nice. Not alarming at all if she’s apparently on good terms with Chuck now,” Belphegor says. “So we’re fucked after all?”

“We might be,” Michael says. “In which case, we need a contingency plan for it.”

“How many plans are we going to need for this?” Belphegor asks. “Not that I’m complaining, I know you’re the war general here, but you know.”

“As many as it’s going to take,” Michael says.

“It’s fumble through it with too many plans and survive or just die with a snap of someone’s fingers,” Adam says, shrugging. “It’s not like we have much of a choice.”

“That’s a lot, though,” Jack says. “The universe is collapsing and we don’t even have a plan for that.”

“No one ever has a plan for these things. Whatever you have is only applicable for scenarios you can imagine but everything else is just up there, don’t feel too bad,” Michael says. “Besides, if Winchester luck prevails, everything will go a lot smoother than we think it’s going to be.”

“God, I fucking hope so,” Belphegor says, and then winces. “I shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t I?”

“Definitely not,” Adam says.

“Yikes,” Belphegor says. “That’s just inconvenient.”

* * *

“So are you telling everyone?” Belphegor asks, as soon as Sam has finished briefing the other hunters as to what’s happened, Dean has made sure security around the school is still in good shape and Cas has made sure the civilian from earlier has calmed down enough to stop staring into space for hours. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Dean says, closing the door behind him.

“Well, talk about it, I guess. It’s not exactly something you can deliberate on for as long as you like,” Belphegor says, because there’s several feet between him and Dean as he’s on the other side of the room.

Dean gives him a flat look. As if Belphegor expects him to not know that.

He doesn’t, but it bears repeating, he thinks.

“We can’t risk a panic,” Castiel says. 

“We can’t risk the civilians turning against you from paranoia when they find out that something’s going on either,” Michael says. “You have one civilian survivor who knows what’s going on. He’s going to start talking if he thinks everyone will be safer for it. Maybe he won’t spread the news now, but if he somehow comes to the conclusion that hiding this is going to cause more problems, or if something happens to shake whatever sense of safety he’s created? He will tell.”

“And come on, you know how this goes in movies,” Belphegor says. “They always go  _ ‘oh, how can we trust you when you’ve lied from us from the beginning’  _ when you, well, lie from them from the beginning.”

“Since when did you have time to watch enough movies to say that?” Dean asks. 

“You literally make us stay in the bunker for days on end and I don’t need to pretend I’m dead for eight hours every night.”

Sam turns to his brother. Dean concedes with a nod.

“We have movie marathons,” Adam says. 

“But the point stands - it happens,” Belphegor says, “And people right now will be paranoid. The more you keep them in here and the more you keep saying vague shit, they’ll be paranoid and they’ll be curious, and they’ll think they’re being brave uncovering your ‘secrets’ when they’ll just be putting themselves and you in danger.”

“Yes, but if we tell them, we risk panic that way as well, and  _ that  _ might put them and us in danger,” Castiel says, sighing a little. “Some  _ will  _ try to leave.”

“Why not just let them?” Jack asks.

A pause among all of them as they direct their attention to him.

“If it’s as far away from the town as possible, why not let them?” Jack asks. “Isn’t that technically safer as long as they’re away from a literal portal to hell?”

“Yes, well,” Sam starts, and does that thing where he smiles and grimaces all in the same second. “About that. We might have a problem.”

“We already have one, don’t we?’ Belphegor asks.

“There’s more rifts,” Sam says, “All over the world. News about them is cropping up everywhere.”

Stir up low level unrest successful. 

“Oh,” Belphegor says, pretending his best to be surprised. “Well, shit.”

“That means all of this is literally for naught,” Adam says.

“Not exactly. If we can find a way to close the rifts as soon as possible, we’ll be able to return everyone to their homes safely,” Castiel says, in a voice that says he and the Winchesters have had a conversation, and he’s not very happy with the conclusions, but he knows it’s necessary for the safety of everyone else. 

Belphegor shoots Jack a look, who shoots Michael a look, who shoots Adam a look.

“Which is why we’re asking Jack for help,” Sam says.

Shit.  _ That  _ sort of conclusion.

“If he can close the rifts, we might be able to bring everyone home,” Sam says. “He might be strong enough to.”

“Might,” Belphegor tries. Because if Chuck decides Jack’s a threat and smites him (again), they might be on the losing side for good.

“That and we have Michael,” Dean says. “A nephilim and an archangel. We needed as much firepower as possible to go against Chuck’s sister, so we’re assuming if we go against him it’s roughly about the same. Save this time, we’re not going against Chuck directly, we’re going against rifts he made.”

“And if that catches his attention and makes him want to step in with us trying to fight the end?” Michael asks.

“Then we’re gonna have to cross that bridge,” Dean says. 

“Without the right firepower,” Michael says, standing. Belphegor leans back in his seat a little, because Michael’s mostly been calm since he’s gotten topside, and this is the most he’s been verbal about something. “You’re right. It took all four of us Archangels  _ and  _ Chuck himself to imprison Amara. And we don’t have anything even close to that right now. Let’s argue that Jack’s around the same as Chuck’s level. Where’s the other three archangels to fill in the power gap?”

“We haven’t exactly figured that out yet,” Sam says, “But Jack’s been literally hunted down by demons and angels because they thought he could restore order to Hell or Heaven. He’s got enough mojo for them to come looking for him. If the Darkness can go toe to toe with Chuck, Jack might be able to. He’s all we have right now. All the other archangels are dead.”

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose. Belphegor thinks about starting an apocalypse reaction bingo card.

“I get that you’re used to going up against apocalypses and powers that be scraping by with the skin of your teeth, but this is not some everyday end of the world this time. You are literally going against the one person who can wipe out this entire universe with a snap of his fingers,” Michael says, “And who can turn you against each other if he wants it.”

“Free will is bullshit,” Belphegor mutters.

Michael motions a hand towards him to make his point.

“Look, we had a whole angstfest argument about this,” Dean says. “I’m not in the mood to repeat it.”

“Then listen to the rest of what I’m saying. You have no plan. You have no contingencies. You have no weapons. If Jack closes the rifts and Chuck shows up afterwards, that negates it. He can do it again. He can kill Jack again. He can just kill all of us instantly this time because the joke’s gotten stale.”

“Then we’ll find our firepower,” Sam says. “We’ll find our firepower, and we’ll find our contingencies. But if we can’t, then we’re going to have to make do, and we’re going to have to hope like hell it’s enough because like you said - it’s the end. For real this time. We  _ know  _ that, Michael.”

Michael looks like he’s about to say something. 

But he doesn’t. Instead he just nods. There’s not really much he can say aside from that, not when it’s risky with Sam and Dean around. If they’re around, Chuck’s watching. If they’re around, Chuck’s sure to know. 

Puts a damper on the whole ‘working with Winchester luck’ thing.

“In the meantime, I really suggest telling your civilians,” Belphegor says to break the silence. “Just...break it to them gently. And then maybe, they’ll cooperate, or at least they’ll know what to do and what’s out there, in case shit goes wrong.”

Sam turns to Dean, who turns to Cas. 

Well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has finally let me go but our prof is a hardass anyway and marked our requirement incomplete bc we couldn't take the finals due to the lockdowns what UP this probably has ten thousand errors


	8. Chapter 8

Cas tells them they can stay in the school for the night, if they want to, and Michael wants to keep a close eye on the situation, and if there’s anyone in their little team they can actually trust to be able to plan his way out of an apocalypse, it’s Michael, so they do. They get to keep the break room as their quarters for the night, so they’ve pushed the table and the chairs aside to make more room for them on the floor.

Not that they needed to sleep, but Adam declared having mattresses on the floor would be a lot more comfortable as they can just sit anywhere, so they made more space.

Jack looks over at what Belphegor is writing down on a piece of cardstock he’d found in one of the desks. They’re both perched on the table - Jack sitting while Belphegor’s on his stomach and kicking his legs behind him like he’s in a teen movie, and he’s sketching out. 

“What are you doing with that?” Jack asks.

“Apocalypse bingo,” Belphegor says. “I’m gonna list out a couple of scenarios I think are going to happen here - “ He finishes the grid right as he says that with a flick of his wrist, and then taps the other end of the pen on the squares. “ - and then when something happens, I mark it off. The top here is gonna have B-I-N-G-O written and I have to get five in a row.”

“And then?”

“I win.”

“But what do you win? You’re making the game yourself,” Jack says.

“The high of satisfaction,” Belphegor says. “It’s very addicting.”

Jack looks up as the door opens, and Adam and Michael step in, carrying as many pillows and mattresses they can carry in their arms. 

“What’s he doing?” Adam asks without even bothering to actually look their way.

“Apocalypse bingo,” Jack says.

“Not everything I do is suspicious, Milligan,” Belphegor says.

“I know, I was just checking to see if you were preparing to prank any of the civilians here,” Adam says, kicking some of the mattresses further into the room before he starts laying them out side by side, trying to cover the floor end-to-end while Michael waits patiently and holds onto the pillows. 

“I mean, I wasn’t going to,” Belphegor says. “If I do now, it’s your fault for putting the idea in my head.”

“Sam and Dean won’t buy it,” Adam says. “Apocalypse bingo? Also, Michael, you can set the pillows down.”

Michael walks over to the mattresses that have been laid down so he can put drop the pillows on them.

“I feel like it’d be fun,” Belphegor says. “Plus, I don’t know what’s gonna happen. These are just guesses.”

“Huh,” Adam says, lining up the last mattress by the wall. They need about four more to cover the rest of the floor. “That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

“A little tasteless,” Michael says. 

“I mean, it’s a little humor to spice up a universal breakdown,” Belphegor says, lifting a shoulder. 

They all look at him for a second. 

“You have a point,” Adam says.

“You wanna join in?” Belphegor asks, waving his card.

“I’ll make my own card. We’ll see who gets a bingo first,” Adam says.

“Ooh, nice. Variety and a contest. Mike?”

“Do _not _call me that,” Michael says. “But yes, I’m open to the idea.”

“_Nice. _Jack?”

“I don’t know what I’d write down,” he says. “Do I just copy you guys?”

“If you think something we wrote is gonna happen, then sure, I’d let you copy some off mine,” Adam says. “Just write in what you think’s gonna happen. Go ridiculous with it if you think it’s gonna be ridiculous.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “You need more mattresses.”

“Yeah, we do. Don’t destroy anything while we’re gone. Come on, Michael.” Adam gets up, heading for the door. Michael follows after him. 

“We don’t - and they’re gone.” Belphegor lets out an exaggeratedly loud sigh.

Jack uncurls his legs from where he’s sitting criss-cross, letting them hang on the edge of the table so he can kick them back and forth. Belphegor laughs.

“We’re like metronomes,” he says. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Jack says.

“It counts beats for music,” Belphegor says, and waves a hand. “I’m gonna ask you something, is that okay?”

“Since when did you ask that sort of question?” Jack asks, a little amused. 

“Since now. I’ve given you a head’s up, so here’s the shot,” Belphegor says, but then pauses. Finally, he says. “You okay with closing the rifts if it comes down to it?”

“I volunteered that plan the first time, remember?” jack says, “I’m fine with it.”

“It could be dangerous,” Belphegor says.

“I’m dangerous,” Jack says.

“That means squat, haven’t you ever heard that thing about the killing thing and the power to kill? I’m dangerous too and I’d book it if I was in your position,” Belphegor says. 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Bet.”

“You like this rock, remember? You said it yourself,” Jack says. “And there’s far too many demons that would kill you.”

“But then I’d be dead either way, right?” Belphegor asks. He folds his arms to rest his chin on them. “Either by demons or the universe just dying or Chuck himself smiting me. No winning on that part.”

“What are you talking about? There’s a chance of winning,” Jack says. “That’s why we’re stopping this apocalypse.”

“Like, a ten percent chance maybe. Even less is more likely, actually,” Belphegor says. “And it’s hinged on Chuck’s weakness, only we don’t know how weak he is and we don’t know what aces he has up his sleeves.”

Jack is quiet for a little while. He turns away, after a moment, staring out at the room. “You sound like Sam and Dean.”

Belphegor splutters.

“That - “ he starts, already pushing himself up into a sitting position “ - _that, _of all the things I have been called, is the most insulting thing anyone has ever told me, _take it back.”_

Jack blinks. “I thought you liked Sam and Dean.”

“No, I am _absolutely thrilled by how they stumble around like two halves of a whole idiot_. There is a difference,” Belphegor says, “Besides, their lives suck.”

“I...guess,” Jack says, the way people say things just so they can move right along. “But like, you sound stressed, I guess.”

“Ah, well, that’s the state of a lot of people, not just Sam and Dean,” Belphegor says. “Of course I’m stressed, we’re going against the guy who made all of this - “ he waves his hand around to indicate the room. “ - possible.”

“I think we’d win easily if we fought construction workers, Bel.”

Belphegor laughs again, loud. “Okay, we’re rubbing off on you too much, kid, your dads aren’t gonna be happy,” he says, wiping his eyes a little. He sobers after a few minutes. “But for real, though. If Chuck thinks he should step in at any time at all, you could die.”

“The Empty can just send me back.”

“What if Chuck makes it so that that’s impossible?’

Jack pauses. 

“Think about it. In the beginning, there was the Darkness and the Light. And then the Light made stuff because he was bored,” Belphegor says. “I don’t know shit about the whole Death reaping Chuck eventually thing, but you have to admit that if in the beginning there was only the Darkness and the Light then everything else is just a concept that exists because the Light willed it to be so and he can just clear the board at any given moment.” 

“Yeah…” Jack trails off. “That is a way to look at it.”

“It’s a story, and yeah, the universe and the narrative has to have rules, but if the writer says _fuck it - “ _Belphegor shrugs. “What can you do?”

Jack thinks about it, for a moment, looking down at the floor. “I think,” he says, eventually, after a good ten minutes, “I think I’ll give it a shot anyway?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Better to have tried than not at all, right?”

“Probably,” Belphegor says. “I wouldn’t really know.”

Jack laughs this time. “Maybe one day.”

“Doubt it,” Belphegor says, chuckling to himself. 

The clock on the wall ticks away, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room as they let their conversation settle.

“Hey,” Jack says.

“Hm?”

“Adam and Michael are taking too long, don’t you think?” he asks. 

Belphegor makes a face at first, and then he frowns in suspicion, turning towards the door. 

In the distance, gunshots.

“Well, there it is,” Belphegor says, taking his pen and marking off a box on his BINGO card. _“Pep talk interrupted by deadly situation. _Here - “ 

Jack catches the pen right before it nearly smacks his face as Belphegor tosses it to him.

“Get some cardstock for yourself and the others and start making your bingo cards if you wanna catch up,” Belphegor says, “I’m already one box ahead.”

* * *

Michael’s got four rolled up mattresses in his arms when he senses it. Malevolent, bitter energy, lurking just beyond the premises. 

He frowns. 

“Something wrong?” Adam asks. Ah, well, he’s stopped in his tracks in the hallway too.

“Vengeful spirits,” Michael says. 

“Hm, bad,” Adam says. “Where?”

“Not too sure, I know it’s far away from the school,” he says, and then as if the universe is determined to one-up him, he suddenly feels the energy surging towards them.

Fast.

“Nevermind,” he says. “They’re headed this way. Probably just figured out they were outside the barrier and could make their way here.”

“Shit,” Adam says. “Let’s go find Sam and Dean.”

Michael lets out a low pulse of grace to search for their souls, quickly finding them in a room across the building. Not wanting to alarm any hunters or civilians they might be with, he instead just motions down the hallway with a nod of his head and starts walking, Adam following suit behind him, nevermind their cargo.

They find the brothers in an office, which is locked when Adam tries to turn the knob, but finds itself opening when he pushes at it with a bit of the borrowed grace that’s been embedded in his soul. 

“Hey,” Adam says, poking his head in. Michael can practically hear the surprise in the sudden pause that takes the room. Adam pushes the door back a little so Michael can see inside. Sure enough, Sam and Dean appear to be in a meeting with their hunters, and they’re all confusedly staring at them.

“You have an emergency,” Michael says, getting straight to the point. “There’s ghosts on the way here.”

“Shit,” Sam says. 

“That’s what I said,” Adam says.

“How many?” Dean asks. 

Michael spreads out his awareness. “Fifteen, around 50 meters from here,” he says. “Oh, wait. Make that twenty three. A couple just joined in. They’re coming in fast, by the way. They’re at forty two meters now, and dwindling.”

_“Shit - _alright, everyone get to work,” Dean says. “Sam, get the civilians in the gym. I’ll deal with everyone stationed outside. Make a second barricade inside the school in case something gets past us. ”

Sam nods, as Dean motions for a few other hunters to follow him. Michael and Adam step aside to let them through. While Dean’s focused on getting to where the Impala is to get their weapons, the others give them suspicious looks that say that if the Winchesters didn’t seem to implicitly trust them, they’d be strapped to a chair with a headlight above them right now. 

“Who’re these guys?” someone from inside the room asks, and they turn their attention inside again.

“Uh, that’s Adam. He’s our little brother,” Sam says. 

Adam waves a hand, as much as he can with the pillows he’s holding. “Sup.”

“You have a _little brother?” _The hunter turns to Sam, disbelieving.

“I thought there were only two of you,” someone else mutters.

“Yeah, it’s a long story,” Sam says, taking out his phone. “He was raised without knowing the family business for a while.”

“How the _fuck,_” the first one says.

“That’s Michael,” Sam says - looking up for a moment to motion to him - plowing through and clearly not really wanting to explain, which was understandable given the urgency of their current situation. He’s typing out something.

Michael nods his greeting.

“Is he like, psychic or something?” a third hunter, looking at Michael warily, asks.

“Not specifically,” Adam says, with a wry grin that earns him a flat look from Sam. He laughs it off.

“Nineteen meters, Sam,” Michael says.

“Right,” Sam says.“Get your guns from storage and pass it to the others stationed inside - I’m giving them a heads up. Adam, Michael.”

“_Wait_, wait, wait, we’re in this?” Adam asks.

“You are now. Find Cas. Get the civilians to the gym,” Sam says, not looking up as he’s still typing out a text. 

“Where is Cas?” Adam asks. 

Michael’s already searching for him. “Infirmary.”

“Oh, thanks,” Adam says. “What do we say to everyone, then?”

“Make something up,” Sam says, finally hitting the send button. He nods to the other hunters and they head for the door. “Take Jack and Bel with you. You’re in charge of the civilians.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Adam says, jokingly.

“I know,” Sam says, but he’s smiling slightly as he puts a hand on Adam’s shoulder. It’s the most brotherly thing he’s ever done so far since Adam’s gotten topside, Michael notes, but Adam’s not pushing him away; probably because his hands are full, but he’s not telling him to stop touching him either. Maybe it’s a good thing. “You’ll handle it.”

Neither he nor Adam miss how Sam discreetly glances to Michael.

“Is that allowed?’ Adam asks, lowering his voice. None of them are sure how anyone will take to knowing there’s an archangel around, much less _Michael, _when the last time the Winchesters let word out of an Archangel Michael being topside, it was when Sam was looking for Dean who was being possessed by him.

“If it comes down to it,” Sam says. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, it never ends well when one of you says that,” Adam says, snickering.

Sam smacks his shoulder _hard _before he leaves, taking the other hunters with him. Adam laughs as his knees buckle a little from the force. 

_“_You fucking moose,” Adam calls out, _“Good luck, _hell knows you need it_.”_

“Thanks,” Sam says. 

Both of them watch the hunters go, for a minute.

“Shit,” Adam says, “I had a brotherly moment.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Michael says.

“Shouldn’t be,” Adam says. “But there’s just that tiny, _tiny _bit of resentment for being literally left in hell for years, you know? Like, I don’t hate them, but there’s that.”

“Ah, well,” Michael says, Castiel shoving his own memories of his father being a fucking douchebag at him coming to mind. To think he’d ever thought to side with the man, and now all his direct siblings were _dead _and the last thing they’d ever known of him was that he was a cold, distant soldier who was dead set on being the good son even if it meant casting his own brother into a place of torture. Dick. “At your own pace.”

“Yeah, life’s like that sometimes. What can you do?” Adam shrugs. “Come on, let’s go find the wondertwins before Belphegor burns something down in a panic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every day I mourn the loss of Belphegor's potential to outsass everyone in the show. Boy could've been PEAK meme energy, he literally looked like that one viner. He could have vibe checked Chuck himself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly forgot to upload this because I thought I already had.

The gunshots are coming from the front of the school, so ideally, they should go there to help, but Belphegor is in no capacity to help and neither is Jack if they’re trying to keep his threat level under wraps, so he grabs the kid and yanks him towards the direction of the gym before he can go anywhere. If there’s anywhere they’re going to gather the civilians if the campus is surrounded, it’ll be the gym. It’s large enough to be able to hold a lot of people at once, and it’s also just one area to monitor as opposed to the multiple rooms of the school building.

“Wait, where are we going?” Jack asks.

“Safety.”

“I thought we were going to help!”

“No, we’re not, because I’m too weak and you’re too strong and we’re trying to let Chuck forget you exist for a moment,” Belphegor says. 

Jack stops running, planting his feet firmly on the floor. Belphegor resorts to grabbing his arm with both hands and tugging him forwards while the boy digs his heels in as best as he can on tiled floor, which is to say, not very well at all.

Certainly a situation to be in, in the middle of the apocalypse. He should have written this down in his card.

“We have to help Sam and Dean!” Jack says. 

“No, we do  _ not _ ,” Belphegor says, still trying to pull him forward while the boy keeps trying to hold his ground. “Listen, they’re hunters. Arguably the best in the world because this universe’s narrative says so. They’re going to do fine, and they’re not going to die.”

“But - “

“Chuck’s not going to let them go out in a little skirmish with ghosts, Jack!” Belphegor says. 

The other hunters might, though, as they don’t have that sort of plot armor protection, but if it comes down to protecting their largest power source that might come handy in the middle of an apocalypse, against risking it all for one isolated moment, he’s willing to call this shot.

It’s not like they have a lot of options to play with this whole thing, really.

“Listen, Jack, this isn’t just about closing the rifts,” Belphegor says, ceasing his struggle and instead stepping closer and lowering his voice. “We agreed to find a way to save this goddamn world using the advantage of not being major players in it. That, plus the fact that you are the most powerful thing in created existence right now means we have  _ two  _ aces in our deck, but we only have those two things. The rest of our deck is pocket lint, a loose thread, and two cents of spare change left from two weeks ago after a grocery trip. Two aces means jack  _ shit  _ when the dealer has rigged the game and we don’t even know all our options and all the rules, so I need you to stay safe for the sake of everything.  _ Do you understand me? _ ”

It’s not even about the world, really.

No, it’s just because if the world goes, he goes. That’s how it is. When Chuck’s done with this universe, it’s all gonna go to shit.

Frankly, if it was anything else Belphegor would have already booked it, gotten a less suspicious body that actually had working human eyes so he could try to see (hehe) what that’s like, and spent his days mind-whammying millionaires into funding his beach vacation. 

But no, there’s an apocalypse that actually concerns him, and Belphegor is a smart demon, so he’s sticking around until this blows over. After this, and maybe after he’ll somehow manage to convince one of the other bastards to fix this body’s eyes, he’ll leg it out of here faster than anyone can say ‘suspicious’.

Jack is staring at him, conflicted. For a kid without a soul, he can be very compassionate. 

“Jack Kline, do you fucking understand me?” Belphegor repeats.

“I…”

Come on. See the logic in the argument.

“I...guess.”

Belphegor’s immediately back to dragging him towards the gym.  _ “Good,  _ now follow me.”

Thankfully, even when he’s hesitant, Jack follows. 

They pass by a few people as they run down the hallway, most of them headed towards the front with guns in hand, so they’re clearly hunters. Belphegor makes sure all of them turn away or barely pay attention to them when they do walk by, so nobody asks questions in case they somehow figure out they’re not civilians around here.

As they turn the corner, he nearly pushes the compulsion at Adam and Michael, who almost bump into them. Cas is with them.

“Great,” Adam says, holding a concerning-looking gun in his hand. Michael’s got one as well. “We don’t have to get you guys after all. Come on, we have to get to the gym.”

Belphegor turns to Jack, whose shoulders relax a little at hearing they’re going to have to go there anyway.

“Sam’s leading a second line of defense in case any of the ghosts get past Dean and the others,” Michael says. “We’re going to be the third.”

On second thought. 

“We’re going to be  _ what _ ,” Belphegor asks. Shit. They’re off the bus, for sure.

“In case anything gets inside the gym.” Castiel steps forward, and now Belphegor notices he’s got two guns. He hands one of them to - 

Belphegor.

Well, that’s sort of better than handing it to the literal toddler who’s admitted to accidentally hurting people with weapons before, but, still.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” Belphegor asks.

“Shoot. It’s rock salt,” Castiel says. “Jack doesn’t know how. Not properly, and not in a sea of people. We need as minimal damage as possible.”

“And you think  _ I  _ can?”

“You can will things to move, Belphegor, even the lowest of demons can do that,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes a bit as he shoves the gun at him. Belphegor fumbles to catch it, letting go of Jack so he doesn’t drop it. Thankfully, the safety is on.

“Yeah, but it’s a sea of people, Castiel,” he says, although he does heft the thing up to inspect it. They have guns in hell, kind of, since as humans progressed, their traumas did too and if there’s anything Hell’s good at, it’s adapting to make people relive that trauma. He’s held one before, but they probably work differently on Earth.

Eh. Worse comes to worse, he can whack someone over the head with it.

“It’s in case of emergency,” Castiel says. “And if that falls through, we have Michael.”

Better than suggesting Jack. Although, Castiel probably also has thought about Chuck turning his attention to his son again if he sets off some alarms and decided,  _ fuck that. _

“Fine,” Belphegor says.

He lets the others lead them to the gym. Jack still looks a little concerned about the clear gunshots outside, but he follows his father, silent, until they reach the gym. 

It’s packed with people. There’s so many of them, crammed into every space they can find on the bleachers, on the floor, by the restrooms, up at the commentator’s booth - they barely fit in here, but there’s nowhere for them to go where they can all be supervised at once. 

The hunter by the doors nods to them as they enter. By the restrooms there’s also one more person stationed there with a gun, but that’s about it. They’re the rest of the backup.

“Hopefully, Sam and Dean will be able to deal with it,” Belphegor finds himself muttering.

“They likely will,” Michael says.

“Adam, Michael,” Castiel says, “You two go up to the bleachers. If you spot anything, you have your phones with you.”

“Can’t we just communicate telepathically?” Michael suggests. “Having to take a phone out seems like a waste of what could be precious seconds.”

“You don’t want even five minutes of my unfiltered thoughts, trust me,” Belphegor says.

Michael rolls his eyes. Belphegor thinks that’s a checkpoint he’s just achieved. 

“Just for when something happens,” Michael says.

“Ah.” Belphegor motions to Cas. “Cas, though.”

“I have enough grace for it, I’m not hopeless,” Castiel says. “And Michael has a point. We can’t fumble around for our phones when something’s happening.”

“We’ll keep an ear out, then,” Adam says, nodding to Michael. “I’ll take the left.”

“Stay alert,” Michael says, before heading towards the right side of the gym, weaving through the sea of people. Adam heads for his station as well.

“Both of you are with me. We’re going to the booth,” Castiel says. 

Belphegor looks down at the gun in his hands, staring at the trigger. “You really want me to try to shoot a gun?” He asks. 

“If it comes down to it, yes,” Castiel says. “So pray that it doesn’t.”

For a moment, Belphegor actually considers doing so.

* * *

The booth is the highest vantage point they can get in the gym, at least the highest one that’s least crowded, so it’s good that they’re stationed there. Jack is just worriedly sitting along with some civilians while Belphegor and Cas are outside, standing by the rails and looking out at the sea of people in the gym. 

It’s been almost an hour. The gunshots outside still haven’t stopped. 

That’s worrying, although expected. If these are ghosts then they can’t just send them back to hell quickly without burning their bodies. 

“Did someone call Rowena?” Belphegor asks. He hadn’t seen her around earlier, although he did hear Sam and Dean talk about her having to pop by her apartment to grab more spell ingredients.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “Dean did.”

Good. She might be able to make another barrier, repel all the ghosts or something. She’s a smart one, she’ll figure it out. 

But still, the gunshots haven’t stopped, although they have been getting spaced out. Moments of silence and then a round of shooting, and then another moment of silence. Belphegor’s not sure if it’s because they’re slowing the ghosts down or because they have to reload every so often. 

He concentrates on trying to contact Michael in the gym. It’s like rubbing salt on his skin, having to telepathically communicate with an actual angel, but hey, desperate times. 

_ How many are there, oh warrior saint angel or whatever the fuck they call you. _

** _Many, _ ** Michael throws back at him. 

_ That’s not very helpful, Mike,  _ he thinks. Michael, across the gym, turns to him and motions the barrel of the gun at him. Belphegor laughs to himself.

** _If you call me that again, the first person I will shoot will be you, _ ** he says.  ** _There’s too many of them. _ **

_ What the fuck do you mean by that? _

** _They’re coming in waves. I can feel them, _ ** Michael says. He turns towards the wall, like he’s trying to look past it.  ** _The hunters are keeping them at bay - I believe by a salt circle, but with every wave, their numbers increase. _ **

If Belphegor had a beating heart, it would fall to his stomach. 

The murmurs of the gym that have tapered off into uneasy silence as people have started falling asleep as the minutes have dragged on is relatively peaceful. Surreal, but peaceful, but - what the fuck is happening outside. 

The barrier around town’s broken, obviously. Someone needs to repair it and repair it stronger than before, but if the rift’s still open, more ghosts are going to keep pushing at it until it breaks again. That’s what’s happening right now - the rift is open and the ghosts have grown numerous enough to break through the goddamn barrier and now everything is falling to pieces and - 

Calm down, he tells himself. Assess the situation properly.

They need to seal the rift, at least the one in their near vicinity. They need to shut it off and they need to find a way to shove all the ghosts back into Hell. 

He turns to Michael, who somehow senses that he is, because he looks back at him.

** _What are you thinking? _ ** The angel asks.

_ How do you kill a ghost?  _ Belphegor asks. 

He’s almost sure Michael’s smiling in amusement when he answers.  ** _In the first place, can you?_ **

_ Shut up, I’m trying to think of something.  _

** _We’re surrounded, _ ** Michael says.  ** _And it will not end, at least not for a very long time, because Hell is almost endless, with the souls it holds. _ ** A pause.  ** _An angel capable of doing so can burn them out with holy fire. Not the sort that traps us in rings, but divine holy fire._ **

_ Like divine wrath holy fire?  _

** _Yes._ **

_ You can do that, right?  _ Belphegor asks.  _ You invented divine wrath.  _

** _I didn’t._ **

_ Piss off, I don’t remember shit from before I fell, but I do remember trauma,  _ Belphegor says. 

Michael pauses. Then, a small, mental sigh. How the fuck he’s making that noise in his head, Belphegor has no idea.  ** _Yes, I can. _ **

_ Great,  _ Belphegor says. 

** _Belphegor._ **

_ Yeah? _

** _Do you think we’re off the bus?_ **

Belphegor pauses. Michael, even from far away, clearly looks deep in thought. If they’re on the bus, then they can probably play dirty, but if they’re off the bus, who knows what Chuck’s going to do to add to the ‘drama’ that is the life of the Winchesters. If he doesn’t kill one of Belphegor and the others off, he can still figure out that they could be possible liabilities.

_ I don’t know,  _ Belphegor says.  _ Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know that everyone here can die, and the only people left standing will be the Winchesters, because that’s how it works, right?  _

He looks out at the sea of people in the gym. If this ghost attack is part of Chuck’s plan to make everything feel more high-stakes, or to make everything more tragic if it’s supposed to end with everyone in the school, hunter and civilian, slaughtered, except for the Winchesters, who will then have to live with the guilt of losing a fight that ends in a massacre, then that’s how it works. This won’t end until the Winchesters get the jump on Chuck, or if Chuck kills one or the other, or both.

And honestly, it fucking sucks. 

_ Everybody dies,  _ Belphegor says.  _ Except for Chuck’s favorite toys. _

** _I see, _ ** Michael says.  ** _Nothing’s happening inside the gym yet. Do you think that’s enough to risk seeing if we’re on the bus?_ **

Ah. He has a point. Everything’s still contained outside. 

_ Think so,  _ Belphegor says.  _ What are you thinking, warrior angel? _

** _We have to find as much salt as we can, _ ** Michael says.  ** _If we’re going to have a chance of even _ ** ** _trying _ ** ** _to make it out of here alive, then we’re going to make it as hard as possible for ghosts to even find their way around this goddamn school._ **

-

Michael pitches it to Castiel, if only because he’s probably the only one Castiel will even listen to. 

The plan he comes up with is this: find every single piece of salt in the building, or everything that has an amount of it in order to act as a substitute since they need all the ammo they can get, and arm every civilian with it as a precaution. Then, as another barrier of protection in case Sam and Dean’s defenses are breached, salt every entrance in the school, so if the ghosts get in, they’ll get trapped in a hellhole of a salt maze and have a more difficult time getting inside, whereby Castiel and Michael can then pick them off one by one in controlled bursts of grace. 

Michael makes the argument for Jack and Adam to lay low as Jack being in potential danger of Chuck finding him a threat if he displays power (which Cas  _ has  _ in fact thought of and is fully worried about) and Adam being inexperienced in controlling whatever grace has been transplanted to him. 

After around fifteen minutes of precious time arguing, Castiel yields, looking more and more uneasy the more spaced out the gunshots outside are in that fifteen minutes. Still, Jack and Adam are on salting duty. 

“We can make sure the other hunters don’t suspect anything,” Belphegor says, but Castiel waves the suggestion off.

“We’ll have to cover our tracks in the future and risk more suspicion that way,” he says. “I’ll tell them about the salt plan, but that’ll be it. The only misdirection any of you will be doing is making them believe Michael returned here when he’s supposed to do rounds around the school with me to scout out potential breaches.”

“Good enough, I can manage that,” Adam says.

While Castiel explains to the hunters what’s going on - because explanation didn’t necessarily mean they had to approve it after all, just that it was explained to them, so they don’t start shooting and accusing - the four of them make for the canteen pantry and labs to find everything they can that has salt in it. Jack’s kind enough to find Belphegor a pair of safety gloves so he doesn’t get burned while hauling sacks of salt out of the kitchen.

“Okay, you, Michael and Adam are gonna salt all the hallways and the doorways of the school. Windows too,” Belphegor says, once they’ve gathered all the salt they can find. “I’m gonna go outside and toss this - “ He hefts up a backpack with a bag of salt. “ - to the hunters, and then I’m running back inside, salting the front door with this bad boy - “ he takes out a small lunch box he’s filled with salt before stuffing it back into the pocket of his jacket, heavy and awkward, but fuck it “ - and then finding a place to hide and hoping I don’t die.”

It’s as much as they can do without ringing any alarm bells in Chuck’s head. In fact, Belphegor’s already risking life and limb going out, but he’s the best candidate for it. If Chuck figures out he’s helping, he might ignore him. He’s too much of a low level demon to even be a threat. He’s got a limited amount of mojo, he acts like an idiot all the time exactly for this reason, and he’s barely been in the picture that Chuck might just forget him. 

Belphegor’s just hoping to everything good still on their side that Chuck  _ isn’t  _ watching. That this is just a fluke, somehow. That it’s just the universe’s cause and effect coming into play, taking into account a rift and a fragile barrier, and an empty town with a shit ton of ghosts looking for residents to terrorize in celebration of their freedom. 

If this  _ is  _ Chuck’s doing, then he’s still got enough juice to pull this off and they are so seriously fucked. 

“Be careful,” Jack says. 

“I’ll be fine,” Belphegor says. “Now come on. I don’t want to have to walk out to everyone outside dead because we took our sweet time.”

Adam nods. They’ve already taken long enough. “Jack, do the windows,” he says, stabbing through his salt bag with the pen knife he’s gotten. “Michael and I’ll do the doors. Bel - “ he turns to Belphegor and pauses. “ - don’t fucking die before I can kick your ass for being a piece of shit this whole operation.”

“Shit, Milligan, that almost sounds like you’ll miss me,” Belphegor says, laughing, but he’s already slinging the bag onto his back and carrying the small sack of salt in his arms, taking off running down the hallway.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s really doing this. He’s really risking his not-really-life to avert an apocalypse.

What the  _ fuck.  _

Risking his life for a chance to get topside? Maybe. Hell sucked ass anyway and it got boring torturing people after a while, and it got even worse every time he was pushed to do lever duties if someone else got promoted and he got demoted. Crowley was interesting, but also way too focused on setting up office on earth, so there wasn’t a lot of juicy gossip around. Hell got cleaner, but also a lot quieter, since everyone was just forced to wait in a queue. Every other ruler after that was like a speedrun in human history, creating messes and dying really fast before demons like him on the underside of everything really got a word of what they were doing.

It was almost a blessing for them, being so low on the rung they never really got thrown into the action, so while demons were dying left and right, they were just chilling in leaky little rooms that had shitty lighting, filing names and punishments and keeping track of who’s here and where they’re supposed to go. Sometimes, whenever he was demoted yet again, Belphegor watched the torture if it wasn’t too boring. Sometimes he pushed elevator buttons. Sometimes he just sorted files of people who had the same name, which was real torture, no matter what anyone else told him otherwise. 

So yeah, maybe he would have risked it all for a bit of freedom, even though he’d much rather prefer sniping Hell’s latest ruler and taking the crown for himself. But for  _ a fucking apocalypse? _

It’s not even like he cares about these people, he just doesn’t want to die. 

“I fucking hate this,” he says, but he keeps running anyway. 

The school’s got a lot of hallways that Michael’s plan might just work. That would put Belphegor in a tight spot, of course, unable to return to the gym, but hopefully, the problem would be solved by then.

Somehow. 

Shit, he’s gonna die. 

“Fucking Winchesters owe me if this works,” he mutters, turning a corner. There’s the front entrance, across a small, dark empty room that seems darker and emptier than usual tonight. “That crosses off _Heroic Sacrifice In The Face Of Fuck It All _on the bingo card, I _guess._”

The glass doors are stained in blood. 

_ “Fuck.”  _

Still, he grabs the bag and unslings it from his arms as he runs. He pushes a glass door open as he reaches it, struggling a little since there’s a dead body right in front of it, along with an unfortunately broken salt line.

Fuck. Fuck. They’re already nearly gotten into the school and someone’s already dead trying to stop them.  _ Shit.  _

_ “Sam!”  _ Belphegor yells, as Sam Winchester, out in the open field, socks a ghost in the face with an iron knuckle. The hunter turns just in time as Belphegor throws the bag of salt at his feet. 

“What - “

“It’s salt!” Belphegor yells. “Throw it like glitter on their faces or whatever!”

A bit of hope lights up in Sam’s face, which Belphegor can now see is battered and bloody. There’s scratches all over him, his shirt is torn and stained, and there’s an ugly purpling line on one of his arms. Ahead, Belphegor can see someone frantically redoing the salt line by thinning out the rest of the unbroken curve , and beyond that, a mass of contorted, angry spirits. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says. 

There’s so many of them, pale and wispy and corpse-like, that they almost seem to pile on top of each other, trying to climb over everyone just to get at the barrier and try to push past it. He doesn’t know where their arms start and end, doesn’t know if this ghost’s neck is broken or if that’s someone else’s. Doesn’t know who’s missing a ribcage or if there’s always been a head peeking out of the empty cavity of their chest. 

Sam grabs the backpack and opens it, frantic, ripping open the salt bag, dumping a good chunk of it into the backpack, before he yells at the hunter trying to redo the salt line. Belphegor’s done here. He’s got to go inside. 

That salt’s not going to do enough.

Where the fuck is Rowena?

“Sam!” Belphegor yells again.

Sam doesn’t turn to him, folding over the open part of the salt bag so he can toss it at the hunter fixing the line, as quickly as he can. “Yeah?” he calls back.

_ “Where the fuck is Rowena?!”  _

“Stuck in ghostly traffic!” Sam barks out a laugh, more hysterical than actually funny. 

Right. Of course. If there’s these many ghosts out, then she’s probably also fighting for her life out there. 

She can probably set up a barrier, though. She can set up a barrier, and everyone can rest for a moment and do a recon, and they can try to close the rift, because they can’t keep relying on Cas and Michael burning everything up, not with Hell’s near endless supply of ghosts crawling out that fucking rift and Cas barely being an angel at this point.

The fucking rift. 

Belphegor has an idea. It’s a very, very bad idea, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and if they’re off the bus, then it’s the only play he can think of on short notice that might not have as big a damage as sacrificing Jack or Michael and doesn’t end with him being fried out of existence.

He’s gonna have to find Lilith’s Crook.

He closes the front doors, then carefully opens the salt-filled lunch box he has to draw a line under them, making sure not to accidentally burn himself with it. Then, hands still shaking - he’s nervous, good god, is he  _ nervous? -  _ he pockets the container and whatever salt is left in it and sits down to the side, closing his eyes, and concentrating, trying to find Jack in the chaos of all the minds in the school.

_ Jack, can you hear me?  _ He asks. Thank everything Jack’s mind is gold and bright, one hell of a beacon for anyone actually trying to find it.  _ I have a plan. I have a crazy plan and it might just work, but first, I need your help. _


	10. Chapter 10

Belphegor feels panicked, Jack notes as he hears the demon’s thoughts reaching out to him. He latches onto the wavelength of it as quickly as he can. 

_ I have a plan, _ Belphegor says, _ I have a crazy plan and it might just work, but first, I need your help. _

** _What is it? _ **Jack asks. He finishes the salt line he’s doing on these set of windows and moves onto the next one to his left. 

_ We’re not going to get through this night with all those fucking ghosts out there, _ Belphegor says. _ We have to get rid of all of them. _

** _I can close the rift, _ ** Jack offers, ** _I - _ **

_ No, you are fucking not, _ Belphegor shoots back before he even finishes the thought. The demon seems to pause. There’s another pulse of panic, the feeling of searching for something, and then mild relief. _ Nothing’s changed. You’re still on the bench as our last and only trump card. I’m going to do this. _

** _What are you going to do? _ **Jack pauses in his salting, confused, and then continues as he remembers they’re on a time crunch. Adam and Michael have already moved on to other hallways to salt the doorways. He’s still got a shit ton of window sills to work on. 

He pours out the salt a little faster, immediately moving onto the other windows. 

_ I need you to take me back there, I need to talk to you - no, wait, just come here. It’ll be easier. You won’t have to redo the salt lines, _ he says. _ There’s this crook thing, a shofar-looking motherfucker, really, that can command all of what’s crawled out of hell to obey it. It was Lilith’s failsafe, back in the day. A contingency plan in case some demons thought to stage a revolution. You know how it is. Once you’ve started one revolution, you’re always gonna wanna start another and a ton of the guys back then already did one in heaven, so. _

** _Bel, you’re rambling. _ **

_ Fuck. Right. If we can get that crook, we can stop this attack, _ Belphegor says. _ Hell, we can stop everything ghost- and demon-related that’s happening on Earth right now. _

If Jack wasn’t already paying attention before, he was now. ** _A shofar?_ **

_ It’s called Lilith’s Crook, _ Belphegor says. _ I’ve done rounds around hell, I was a disposable promoted-demoted cannon fodder sort of employee. I know where her Chamber is. She’s keeping the crook there. _

Jack forces himself to salt the windows faster. ** _Okay. Okay, I’ll be quick here, and I’m gonna - _ ** He gets an idea. ** _ Hang on._ **

He reaches his grace out, carefully, searching for Michael’s own and Adam’s soul. There’s a pulse of surprise from both of them when he reaches them. 

**What is it? ** Michael asks. **Is Belphegor dead?**

_ I thought I told him not to be, _ Adam says. _ Can he even die? It’s just ghosts. _

_ I am right here, you shitbags, _Belphegor says. 

** _He’s got a plan, _ **Jack says. He’s blessedly reached the end of this hallway’s windows, so he takes the turn and starts another line. 

_ There’s a shofar in Hell that can control ghosts and demons. _ Belphegor says. _ It’s called Lilith’s Crook. It was a contingency plan in case anyone wanted to mutiny. _

_ Weren’t there multiple mutinies since Apocalypse Classic Flavor? _Adam asks.

_ Yes, but that’s only because the damn room it’s in has been closed since she died, _ Belphegor says. _ Not to mention it’s in a very, very secluded part of hell and it’s only because I was useless enough that I even got to clean the hallway where it was. But Chuck’s thrown all of Hell’s gates open, which means, theoretically - _

**This room could be open, **Michael says. 

_ Exactly, _ Belphegor says. _ Lilith’s Chamber could be open. _

_ Anybody could have looted the place, then, _Adam says.

_ No, that thing’s in a lockbox, _ Belphegor says. _ It’s protected by a spell, and it’s in Enochian. Nobody in Hell can speak or read it, except for her. _

**You need someone who can read and speak it, then, if your plan is to use it.**

_ Yes. If you can get Cas to help me, somehow, that would be great. Michael’s got more juice than he does, so if something goes awry here, then he’ll be better suited to hold the fort down, _Belphegor says.

** _I can try to convince him, _ ** Jack says. ** _If we don’t have any other choice then - I think he’ll do it. _ **

_ Thank fuck, please do, _ Belphegor says. _ Also, you’re gonna have to help me get out of here in the first place, because this plan involved a lot of salt. _

** _We’ll finish up here, _ ** Jack says. ** _I’ve done a lot of the windows already. Adam and Michael can help me if they’re done with the hallways -_ **

There’s a sharp cut in the connection, harsh enough that Jack actually physically gets tugged to the floor and crashes onto it, sending salt spilling all over the floor. After a second, he tries to push himself up, vision bright for a moment before it returns to normal. He sits up.

There’s a spike of distress in their connection. 

_ Michael?! _

Then, there’s just pure, unadulterated panic from Belphegor’s end.

_ Michael, what the fuck! _

* * *

Belphegor is currently hiding in the janitor’s closet, pinned to the wall with Michael’s forearm pressed to his throat, dangerously close to crushing it. 

He thrashes for a moment, instinct taking over logic, hands clawing at the arm, before he remembers he doesn’t need to breathe and that he’s fine if Michael cuts off his air circulation. He looks up, trying to search for what’s wrong - did Chuck find out what they were planning and disapproved of their meddling, or something? Is Michael not in control right now? Did something go wrong?

But no - Michael’s eyes are bright, but they’re bright with grace and fury. His expression is cold, shut off, a lot like when they’d first met and he looked like he was willing to tolerate the Winchesters and his nephew, but he was not about to tolerate an actual demon.

“Michael - “

Michael’s arm presses down so his next words get choked.

Belphegor claws at his arm again, trying to get it to ease up a bit. “Michael, what the actual fuck!”

“Lilith’s Crook, huh,” Michael says. Thankfully, he does lighten the pressure so Belphegor can talk. 

“_ Yes, _ Lilith’s Crook!” Belphegor says. “What the fuck about it doesn’t make sense? It was a contingency plan because the first demon thought if angels could rebel against God, then demons could rebel against a human-turned-demon. She was _ paranoid. _What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Surprising that you never mentioned this before, when you seemed to know about it,” Michael says. 

_ “I forgot.” _

Shit. He’d expected things to go south, but not this quickly, and not over this.

“Don’t lie to me, Belphegor, I can tell.”

When the angel threatens to crush his windpipe again, he grabs his arm to stop him from doing so. “Okay_ okayokay.” _

Right. Okay. He’s gonna have to talk.

_ “ _I didn’t forget,” he says. He never did, it was just something he stopped thinking about so it was never on the table of things he’d have to give up. “But...hear me out.”

“Michael!” 

From the corner of his nonexistent eyes, Belphegor spots Adam and Jack, who look like they’ve abandoned their post just to find them. Thank _ fuck. _

_ “Help me, _he’s gone fucking crazy,” Belphegor says. 

Adam’s expression falls for a moment, distraught. “Chuck?”

“No,” Michael says. “I think the demon’s suspicious.”

“Of course he’s suspicious, he’s _ Belphegor _, it’s what he does,” Adam says, a bit of ease creeping into his voice as he steps forward, putting a hand on Michael’s arm that’s got Belphegor on the wall right now. “Michael.”

“He could be betraying us,” Michael says. “A crook that would have been useful days ago that never came up on any of our discussions about throwing off Chuck’s plan? And never came up when we were trying to find a way to stop everything crawling out of hell that doesn’t involve waving Jack around like a bright neon sign? And _ now _he tells us about it?”

Adam falters. Shit.

“The room it’s in is supposed to be sealed,” Michael says. “But he knows exactly what the condition of the Crook is. If he had been a high ranking demon close to Lilith, I would have let it be.” Michael’s glare turns just a bit more colder. “But you’re _ not _ a high-ranking demon - or so you say, anyway.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Why have you never healed your eyes, Belphegor?”

If he’d been a little more blase about the situation, he would have thrown a joke. _ Who wants to see this shitshow? _But the only reason Michael hasn’t killed him right now is because Adam’s holding him back and Jack looks like he’s a deer in the headlights, frozen right as an oncoming truck of realization is heading towards him.

Belphegor takes in a breath, even when he doesn’t need to. It’s a comfort thing, he thinks. He lets it out. Another inhale, another exhale. One-two, one-two.

“I _ am _a low-ranking demon,” he says. When Michael looks angry at the answer, he quickly says, “I swear it on my wings, Michael.”

The archangel pauses. 

He drops him. 

_ “Fuck,” _Belphegor says, rubbing his throat. It still hurts, even when he can technically function without it. Meatsacks are incredibly inconvenient.

He looks up, wary. Michael has not stepped back to give him any space. 

“You said to hear you out,” Michael says. “Talk.”

He’d forgotten how much of a hardass the prince of the heavenly host was. Adam’s softened him up a bit too much that it had been misleading. 

It’s fine. The others already know he’d lied about the whole human thing in the beginning, anyway. They know he knows something about heaven. They’ll take his explanations a little less harshly, if he plays his cards right.

Belphegor stands up. To the side, Jack still hasn’t moved from where he is, instead staring at the scene with wide eyes. He looks almost scared of Belphegor. 

“Right,” Belphegor says, “Yes, I withheld information about the crook.”

An expression of hurt flits across Adam’s and Jack’s faces.

Ah.

Well.

Michael remains impassive. 

“I did that because I didn’t plan on joining Team Apocalypse. _ Obviously, _” Belphegor says. “All I was gonna do was pop out of hell, that’s it. And the nearest empty body really was this, that really was a coincidence.” He motions to his - Jack’s former body. “All I wanted to do was to book it.”

“Why didn’t you?” Adam asks. 

“Because, _ surprise surprise _ , what I thought was a Winchester-caused world-ending accident turned out to be the big man himself throwing the off switch,” Belphegor says. “And in case you didn’t notice? I live in this universe. No fucking demon in their right mind would think, _ oh, the world is ending because the mouth in the sky said so _ and traipses around like it’s a picnic. If Chuck himself says it’s over, it’s not just humanity dead. It’s everything. I understood that when the Winchesters told me he said it was _ The End. _Give me some fucking credit, I’m not that stupid.”

Michael raises an eyebrow.

Belphegor makes a so-and-so gesture. “Whatever. But yeah, I decided to help because guess what, I don’t wanna fuckin’ die, geniuses.”

“And the crook?” Michael asks. 

“It’s a siphon,” Belphegor says. “It doesn’t just...control demons - or souls, or whatever. In the event that Lilith somehow needed more power, then it was going to be a way to get an emergency reserve. It can suck in every ghost and demon in the plane of existence it’s in and turns it into energy instead. Demonic energy. Doesn’t work for angels.”

“And you know all this because?”

“‘Cause I made it,” Belphegor says. “I made the crook.”

The silence that follows feels a lot quieter than the usual silences the four of them sit in, even with the sounds of fighting outside. 

“And you’re still a low ranking demon?” Jack asks..

He nods. ‘Lilith kicked me down the hierarchy because duh, I was a guy who knew a lot of spells. I can create weapons. I put things together. I’m the demon of discovery, after all.”

“Power struggle,” Michael says.

Belphegor throws a finger gun at him, like he usually does when someone follows his train of thought, but Michael’s glare returns so he lowers his hand quickly.

“Wait, what about not telling us about the crook?” Adam asks. “Why didn’t you? You were unwilling to sacrifice Jack.”

“Because I wanted to use that thing for myself,” Belphegor says, and holy _ fuck _ does honesty taste vile. Still, Michael’s not smiting him. That’s a win. “I’ve been stuck mopping up messes my whole existence. I used to be an angel, s _ ure. _But I wasn’t anyone important, just the guy you got to fix things or find ways to fix things and everyone gave that a wide berth until there was something to fix. I was cannon fodder in heaven, and I’m still cannon fodder in hell.”

“Oh god, you’re the resident nerd.”

Belphegor punches Adam’s arm, gently, and then retracts his hand at Michael’s look. Right. The kid’s celestial boyfriend’s still pissed off and everything.

He shifts, uneasy, as the others continue to look at him. There’s another awkward, strained pause.

“If you did use the crook,” Michael says. “Let’s say, after this, what then?”

“Well, I wanted to rule hell,” Belphegor says.

“That’s it?”

“I mean,” Belphegor says, the sudden blank his brain comes up with taking even him by surprise. Then again, it was a plan he thought of on the fly the second he figured out all the gates of Hell were open. He scrapes together whatever thoughts he can. “What else is there? All that crook does is absorb demonic energy.”

Michael crosses his arms and fucking _ sighs. _“Take me to the crook,” he says. 

He blinks. _ “You? _I just told you, everyone might need you - “

“They’ll need me more to smite you if you turn out to be a rat,” Michael says.

Belphegor quiets. 

“Adam, Jack, finish the salting,” Michael says. “We’re going to get the crook. Tell me what you need me to do.”

“For real?” Belphegor asks. 

“For real,” Michael says. “But you’re on thin fucking ice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this started as a crack AU why are we at 20k words


	11. Chapter 11

“Fuck, there’s a lot of them.” Adam glances out of the small, circular window of the school kitchen’s back door. 

Outside, there are three hunters, jackets shredded and torn, with patches of blood all over them. They’re all still standing, by some miracle, still resolutely keeping an eye on the barrier ahead of them. Ahead of them, there’s a sea of ghosts.

While the smart move would be to tell Cas of their hastily put together plan, and thus prevent any further animosity and suspicion from arising in the future, the fact of the matter is that Castiel trusts Belphegor less than he trusts the dirt under his shoes. Adam knows that.  _ Jack  _ knows that, and so the consensus had been that, rather than waste precious minutes having to try and convince Cas and probably still fail even if they hit him with Jack’s innocent, pleading eyes, they are all to sneak out the kitchen back door, Michael is to break the salt line so Belphegor can cross over, and then Adam is to quickly reconnect the whole thing while Jack stands guard. 

There’s also the thing about Cas being part of Team Free Will and being off the bus, and how the whole point of their meddling is that they want to be  _ on  _ the bus and blindside Chuck with every pocket of opportunity they can, so it’s not like it’s really an option they can freely take without consequences to think of.

Besides, they actually need to pull off this stupid idea first before worrying about whatever repurcussions it’s going to have in terms of the resident seraph figuring out they’re about to compete with the Winchesters for the Peak Stupid Trophy.

“I wish I wrote  _ two  _ heroic sacrifice boxes on my bingo card,” Belphegor says. 

Adam immediately swats his arm, hissing out,  _ “Would you shut up about the fucking bingo card!” _

“Cranky because you’re not winning, aren’t you?”

Adam wonders how much strength it will take to crush a demon’s windpipe and actually have him suffocate. 

“If we can find a small break in the defense,” Michael says. “I can fly us out of here,  _ but  _ that would throw an obvious flare of grace, although considering Chuck already knows I’m around, it’s a matter of whether to remind him I’m around and can intervene, or take the risks of not using grace.”

“It could put everyone here in danger,” Jack says, “Reminding Chuck, I mean.”

“We’re already breaking the salt line. That went out the window ten minutes ago.”

“True.”

“How are we going to get those hunters away?” Adam forcefully drags the focus of the conversation back to the nearest problem. “We can’t just waltz out there.”

Belphegor pauses, and then turns to Jack, the two of them sharing a look. 

“Can’t we?” Belphegor asks. “We can just - “ he makes a motion with his hand “ - press their attention elsewhere. We’ve done it before.”

“Capitalizing on the fact that we were usually in  _ crowded areas  _ and thus the human brain would find it natural that other people would be around and make the impulse to mind their own business more natural.” Adam motions outside. “These guys are on high alert.”

“Take a sledgehammer to those natural instincts,” Belphegor says. 

Adam gives him a look. 

The demon throws up his hands and huffs. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Milligan, what do you want? A medal for taking the moral high ground or a universe still standing?”

“I am not - “

Belphegor looks like he wants to hit him and only doesn’t because Michael is right beside him and would decapitate him with extreme prejudice if he did so. “Shove your empathy aside for  _ one minute. Please.”  _ He waves his hands around just to get the frustration out. “Compel them to not even notice us, like they’re not seeing shit. We break the salt line, we get out, you reconnect it while Jack makes sure nothing gets through, and then run back inside and don’t let the compulsion up until you’re out of sight.  _ Easy fucking peasy if you start thinking with your logic. _ ”

"I am!"

Belphegor gives  _ him _ a look this time. 

He is, sort of. He knows it's the apocalypse and now, more than ever, it's imperical they get more and more cutthroat with all their plays because they have a very, very limited hand. They're not main characters who can squander all their chances and still somehow come up on top with the power of love and friendship and all that cheesy bullshit. They're a bunch of poor side bastards Chuck couldn't give less of a shit about. He and Michael - Michael! Fucking  _ Prince of the Heavenly Hosts _ Michael! - got left in Hell for fuck's sake, and yes, that fault rests on his brothers' shoulders but it also equally rests on the shitty writer this universe has. 

Like how the  _ fuck  _ do you get a nephilim baby from Lucifer and then chuck him into another universe where he's likely on the bus for a good chunk of time? Or an old, old demon who knows so many obscure spells and can forge objects and weapons that don't exist until he makes them, only to have a top demon kick him down the demonic hierarchy? How the fuck does that happen, out of all the possibilities that can manifest?

Sure their universe has free will, but as it stands, there's also a very obvious hand pulling all the strings, and they can't afford to be careless because something would be the momentary right thing to do. 

But fuck if it doesn't make his skin crawl anyway. 

"I don't want to be a main character," Adam blurts out. 

He thinks everyone around him blinks simultaneously somehow. 

"Excuse me," Belphegor says. "What the fuck?"

"I mean like - " Adam motions with his hands. All it does is make him look ridiculous. "I don't - I don't want to be tactless, but at the same time, I realize that being a main character also means you don't want to be tactless but the thing is that you  _ can be,  _ and - "

Michael puts a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe."

He stops talking. He pauses, takes in a deep, deep breath. He lets it out, reaching up to squeeze Michael's hand. 

"I feel," he starts, "Like we're betraying all other side characters by just… treating them like side characters."

"Milligan," Belphegor says. "The clock is ticking. Please explain this as plainly as you can."

_ "I don't like the idea of mind controlling people!" _ he says. "It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And I feel like that's the sort of shit main characters do to side characters because  _ they don't matter."  _ He catches himself before he can raise his voice. "To the whole of the story, the structure of the universe - they're narrative fodder. It doesn't matter if they feel weird about it after, none of it does. They're on the bus by then and everything progresses without them, and it's - " He makes a frustrated gesture. 

But he sees understanding dawn in Jack's eyes. 

"And yeah, sure, Sam would think about this. Dean would too," Adam says. "But they've fucked up a lot on the way by their decisions too, you know? And like, I get it. They're the leads. Chuck throws this shit at their feet and I feel bad that they probably can't trust their own decisions now that they know this, but  _ holy fuck."  _ He motions to himself, with way too much force than he should have.  _ "I'm a side character." _

They all stare at him, for a moment, even Michael. 

But then he feels that reassuring squeeze on his shoulder again, before the angel's hand moves down to hold his own. 

Belphegor pushes his sunglasses up in slight frustration, looking away for a bit, but he sighs. Then he laughs. "Jiminy kripes, you anxious little bitch."

Jack hits his shoulder. 

_ "Ow,  _ what?" Belphegor asks, rubbing his arm. 

"He has a point, you can't just ruin the moment with that," Jack says. 

"I just did," Belphegor says, laughing lightly. But he sobers quickly, turning back to Adam. "Listen, Milligan. You are like, the least bastardly one out of all of us rats, which I'm pretty sure no one would argue with."

He pauses, waiting for objections. And he's right, there are none. 

"But you also know how to look at the big picture. You  _ know  _ what's at stake," Belphegor says. "We'll apologize. We'll make it up to them, but right now, they can either die because that barrier breaks and all the ghosts are still on the other side -" Belphegor points to the door. " - or we can get those ghosts out of the equation and let them live to see another day."

"And you know Sam and Dean care about people," Jack says.  _ "I  _ wouldn't be here if Sam didn't intervene, and if Dean didn't put at least some form of effort into accepting me. I think they're just... "

"Too used to loss?" Adam says, recalling a conversation from weeks and weeks ago. There's a sting of bitterness that wells up in him, but it's not as bad as it was the first time he heard the words. That's progress, right? 

"Yeah," Jack says. 

"It doesn't excuse it, but, yeah," Belphegor says. "They make stupid decisions to save people, that's what they're all about."

"But that's a roundabout argument, isn't it?" Adam asks, "They save those they can see, the ones Chuck throws onto their path, but in the process, cause and effect just… takes other off-page victims."

"Adam," Michael says. "You know you're not a monster if you try your best and something out of your control happens."

_ Shit.  _

Just like that, it's like he's been punched in the fucking gut. Trust Michael to know exactly what the root of his turmoil is, even if he can't properly tell until it's told to him. 

They did spend millenia in the Cage. That's to be expected. 

Adam laughs, wiping at his eyes a little. "Sam and Dean aren't monsters."

"I know," Michael says. "And nobody said it. I know you don't feel like that. But - " He inclines his head. "Look outside. The goal is to get out, get the ghosts away, and everyone in this school lives. That's all, Adam."

Adam nods, taking in another breath. 

_ Fuck,  _ trying to be put together for days on end when the world's collapsing takes a lot out of a guy. 

"You anxious fuck, it'll be fine," Belphegor says, laughing a little brighter this time. To Adam's surprise, he claps his shoulder. "We'll throw them an apology party if it makes you feel any better. If anything, all the stakes are firmly on one side right now."

"We just have to get Michael and Belphegor out the salt circle," Jack says. "And then we're good."

Adam snorts. "No we're not, since you're gonna have to be the one to hold the mind control and push back whatever's gonna try to crawl through the barrier. We've been avoiding using your powers."

"I know, but we don't have a lot of options," Jack says. 

“Yeah,” Adam says. He lets the rest of his nervousness out with a chuckle.  _ “Jiminy Kripes?” _

“I don’t wanna summon Chuck like Bloody Mary, man, I’m avoiding any name-in-vain-taking until we get this all sorted out,” Belphegor says. Jack snickers.

Adam shakes his head, and after a moment, turns back to the little window, looking at the hunters, and then the ghosts. “Aw fuck,” he says, "We're really doing this, huh?"

"Sure as daylight," Belphegor says. 

"You'll be fine," Michael says. 

"I know, but  _ you  _ better be too," Adam says. He scans the area. There's gonna be ghosts spilling out onto the field as soon as the salt line breaks, so they're gonna have to fight. 

He looks around the kitchen. The cutlery here has got to be iron, right? 

“What are you thinking?” Michael asks.

“If we can get iron around here,” Adam says. “In case something gets through the barrier, I’m gonna need it. I’m not Jack. And I’m shit with channeling grace in a panic.”

“I can blast the ghosts back before we cross over,” Michael says, “That’ll give us some window of time. If you can reconnect the line before then, you won’t even need to fight.”

“I know,” Adam says, already walking back to the cupboards to check for anything that he can use. “But we can always have contingency plans.”

“I’ll take an iron weapon,” Belphegor says, rushing over to help him in his search. “I’d rather get back to hell in one piece, thanks.”

“What about the pans?” Jack motions to the rack where the cast iron pans are hung. 

Adam immediately grabs one.

“Guess we’re reenacting  _ Tangled _ tonight,” he says. “Belphegor, you’re sure about handling iron?”

“I’d rather get a little burn than get shredded,” the demon says, adjusting the gloves on his hands before carefully taking a pan off the rack.

“Michael?” Adam asks.

The angel pauses for a moment, thinking. “If you do need to use it,” he says, “Make sure it’s within reach while you pour the salt.”

Adam grins. “I’ll be fine.”

Michael motions a hand out. Adam tosses him a pan.

“Come on, Jack, you’re not gonna shoot someone on accident with this.” Belphegor takes another one off and makes his way to Jack to shove it in his arms. The boy laughs, but takes it, hefting it up in his hands.

For a moment, Adam looks at all of them, holding up their weapons for tonight.

“We look ridiculous,” he decides.

“Yeah,” Michael says, but he smiles. “But at least we’ll probably make it out alive.”

_ “Probably,” _ Jack says.

Belphegor winces. “I don’t like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a whole chapter of Adam having a minor meltdown


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, Adam grabs one of the larger pot covers as a shield before Michael kicks the door down for them to storm outside. 

It’s an eerie sight, watching all of the hunters just stare off at the barrier when they should normally notice them, and despite the pep talk, it still makes Adam’s stomach turn a little, but the others are right. There’s a lot more at stake right now. He’ll deal with the fallout later. 

Cas is going to be  _ pissed.  _ His brothers too, but they’ve done stupid shit before, it’s fine. But Cas is going to skin all of them alive for risking Jack. 

They rush to the barrier, as quietly but as quickly as they can. Adam thinks he steps on coagulated blood on the way to the salt line. He winces. 

“Yeah, shit, I’m having second thoughts,” Belphegor says, stopping a little bit behind than everyone else. 

In front of them is a writhing mass of ashy, angry souls. At the sight of the four of them getting close, they start thrashing against the barrier with renewed force. One of them climbs on top of three other people, pushing down harshly. It smiles, very, very wide. The skin from the ends of their lips up to its ears is torn. 

Adam looks away from it. 

“Hm. Anyone else?” Belphegor asks.

Michael grabs the back of his collar with his free hand. The demon puts up his hand and the pan he’s holding. 

“Alright, alright. I’m not going anywhere, captain,” he says. 

“Adam,” Michael says. Adam turns to him, and he seems to hesitate. But he nods. “I’ll be right behind.”

Adam nods back.

Okay. Showtime. Samwise Gamgee didn’t make a speech about the good still in the world worth fighting for just for him to chicken out. 

He takes a single, careful step forward. He looks at the ghosts. They all look excited for this. They know what he’s about to do. Swallowing, he takes another step, and then another, each a little faster than the last if only so he doesn’t change his mind and run back inside the school. 

Finally, his foot is right by the salt line. Nearly nose to nose with him is the ghost of a man missing half a face. He’s smiling too, teeth all bared from the lack of skin on one side and the wide, hungry stretch of lips on the other. The empty eyesocket stares Adam down.

Behind him, he hears the light crunch of leaves. Michael’s right behind him. 

Adam sweeps the salt line with his foot. 

_ “Get down!” _

He does, throwing himself flat on the ground at Michael’s command, making sure that the pan and the pot lid are away from his torso so he doesn’t accidentally break something. He feels hands grab onto his arm as he hits the ground, but not even a second later, a gust of power bursts out, and the sensation disappears. Adam looks up as he hears someone scream.

Belphegor soars above him, shooting straight out of the salt line’s reach, and hits the ground with a grunt and a roll. A frying pan tumbles after him. 

He pushes himself up a second later, enraged. “What the  _ fuck, Michael?!” _

But Michael’s already running after him, sprinting past Adam with his own frying pan in hand. Adam immediately remembers what he’s supposed to do and gets up, leaving his pot lid and pan on the ground. He crawls over to the salt line, gathering up the salt in his hands.

“I’ve bought us time, but I don’t know how much. There’s scores of these ghosts coming out of the rift,” Michael says. 

Adam hears Jack take up position behind him, standing guard.

“Well, why the fuck aren’t we getting on, then?” Belphegor asks, standing and limping forward to grab his frying pan. 

“They need to reconnect the salt line first,” Michael says. “Otherwise - “

A guttural, inhuman scream in the distance. Adam pauses for a brief second to look up. 

_ “Shit,”  _ Belphegor says. 

_ “Go!”  _ Adam yells, returning to his work. There’s a lot of salt here, and he’s easily scooping them up by the handful and setting them down on the ground. He’ll be done in no time. Jack’s with him anyway. “Go close the rift!”

He doesn’t need to look up to know Michael looks conflicted. “Adam - “

_ “Go, Michael!”  _ he says, and then laughs. “Just don’t die or I’ll kill your ass.”

He risks a glance up, which proves worth it, because Michael blinks, and then smiles.

“Sure thing, kid,” he says. Then he grabs Belphegor’s arm as he turns, dragging the demon with him as they book it out of the school grounds. 

Adam gathers up all the salt outside of the line, not minding the dirt he’s taking along with it, and nudges them towards the part he’s already reformed. He thins them out, hands shaking slightly, pushing the salt sideways. 

His breath is already frosting. Whatever ghosts Michael had blasted away, there’s already more headed towards them, too many from the fucking rift that they needed to close yesterday. 

“Adam,” Jack says, worriedly.

“I’m almost done,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

He is. There’s only a bit more that he needs to push the salt to, and then he can head back inside. In the distance, Michael and Belphegor are already shadowy figures, running as fast as they can to the cemetery. 

Adam feels something sharp on his cheek - 

“Duck!”

He throws himself flat on the ground, for the second time this night, but quickly turns to keep his eye on the salt line, reaching his hands out to push the last of the salt together. Above him, Jack swings an iron pan at the ghost of a man who looks like he’d crawled straight out of a trench, all skin and bones and a crazed look in his eyes from who knows what, but it’s gone as the iron connects with him, and he disappears into a puff of smoke. 

The salt line reconnects. Adam lets out a huff of relief. 

He sits up, turning to Jack, who looks just as relieved as he is. He would have sat there for the rest of the night if there weren’t any other matters to attend to. 

Slowly, he gathers the pot lid and the frying pan as he stands. He looks around, at the hunters, still looking like they hadn’t seen anything at all, even when the salt line had been broken, a demon had been thrown across a field, and Jack had hit a ghost with a frying pan.

Definitely for the best. They’ll explain everything later, if anyone asks questions. 

And then they hear the screech of a car pulling up on the curb behind them. Adam turns so fast he thinks he pulls a muscle, startled. It’s pure defensive instinct that makes him throw the pot lid at one of the headlights with the accuracy of someone dead set on getting a part in a Marvel movie.

The headlight gets smashed.

“Oh shit,” Adam says, throwing his hands up like that’s going to shield him from whatever consequences this is going to have. He winces, taking a step back from the salt line to put some more distance between himself and his mistake. 

Rowena steps out of the car, staring at him like he’s just busted one of her headlights with a pot lid. 

Which. Yeah. 

* * *

“You could have flown!” Belphegor yells. He can feel hungry eyes staring at him as he and Michael make their way down the street. 

“Yes, but we - “

“You blasted some ghosts to kingdom come, Michael!” Belphegor says. 

“ _ Exactly _ . They were ghosts, Belphegor - the reason why I can’t fly you to hell is the reason why Castiel can heal people but rarely flies these days. Using your wings is significantly a lot more power than simply healing people or blasting some ghosts away,” Michael says. “Now run like you’re being chased out of Heaven.”

Belphegor laughs. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

Belphegor prides himself in his intelligence. There aren’t a lot of things he can take pride in - he’s not the best at fighting, as he’s usually behind a desk writing things up or filing things into a folder; he doesn’t have a lot of talents, as being a demon means he doesn’t have any need for them; he’s not the best with people, being already at the bottom of the rung in Heaven and then kicked down the hierarchy in Hell will do that to you - but he is smart. 

He’s crafted a lot of weapons in his time. He’s tinkered with a lot of ingredients and associated concepts with symbols, breathing power into words, manifesting spells that weren’t there beforehand. He’s created his own system of power, one that Hell has never caught onto. It’s the same reason why he’s able to blast ghosts away with grave dirt and put up a barrier using a heart. All of it is about looking at the world through a certain way and thinking, huh, how can I take these simple things, and find a way to infuse them with purpose and power outside of what they already have?

But of course, being a nerd means shit-all when you’re running for your life with the jockiest jock to ever jock - the fucking Prince of the Heavenly Hosts. Michael was a jock, before jocks were invented. Michael could probably benchpress, before benchpresses were invented. Guy probably ran mile dashes in seconds before mile dashes were invented. 

Belphegor doesn’t need lungs, but goddamn, is he out of breath trying to catch up with the guy.

And he’s refusing to fly so his shitty dad won’t find them trying to ruin his shitty story. Figures.

The cemetery is already far away enough by car, but on foot, Belphegor feels like they might as well just run all night, especially with the ghosts that are likely only staying away because they can see how  _ bright  _ Michael’s grace is. But Michael seems to be determined enough, dragging him along even when Belphegor’s feet can barely keep up with him. 

At least this crosses off the  _ running away montage  _ box of his bingo card. 

“Left turn?’ Michael confirms with him as they reach an intersection.

“Left,” Belphegor says. The angel immediately takes a hard left. Belphegor has to shuffle quickly so he doesn’t stumble and break his glasses into his face. “Didn’t you have time to memorize the streets when you crawled out of Hell?”

“We took one route and never turned back,” Michael says.

“Yeah, straight to a diner and then on the path of the Impala.” Belphegor snorts.

He feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the temperature drops. Something’s decided it’s brave enough to approach them.

“Mike,” he says.

“Don’t call me that,” Michael says, but he hefts up his frying pan in his other hand. 

“What the fuck happened to your sword?” Belphegor asks. “Not Dean, like,  _ physical manifestation of your grace  _ sword.”

“I have it,” he says.

“Why aren’t you using it?” Belphegor asks.

“It’s a physical manifestation of my grace, as you’ve said,” he says, and waits for Belphegor to get it. 

He does. “Right. Huge power flare. Got it -  _ oh holy fuck.” _

There is something standing in the middle of the street. Belphegor doesn’t know what it is, apart from the fact that the dark of the night and the lack of lights from the neighborhood due to all of the residents being away is making it an even dark blotch of a figure in front of them. It looks like the sort of thing that taxi drivers make stories about, the ones that say they got a passenger that told them to drive to a creepy house and when they arrived there, there was no one in the backseat, save for a wet spot and the eerie feeling of being watched. 

Michael runs straight at it. 

Belphegor doesn’t even get a good look at its face. All he knows is that it looks like a rotting corpse; skin greying from decomposition with clumps of flesh already having fallen off, sunken eyes, a shadow where the nose should be, and rotting teeth. 

And then Michael just swings the frying pan at it and runs straight through the spot where it stood like a deranged linebacker. 

Belphegor thinks the ghost really might have left a wet spot, because he slips slightly as Michael pulls him through. 

“You are fucking insane,” Belphegor says. 

“No,” Michael says. “I just know we need to get to Hell fast.”

Belphegor snorts, despite himself. “Can I tell you to go to Hell now, then?”

“Yeah, because you’re coming with me,” Michael says. 

“Shit, Milligan’s rubbed off on you,” he says, laughing again. He might be hysterical.

At the very least, though, it feels less like he’s gonna die. 


	13. Chapter 13

Jack quickly snaps his fingers, modifying the compulsion to pure unawareness. Shit. Okay. They’d definitely seen the car arrive because Jack hadn’t caught that. He could try to change their memories or something, but he has no idea how to do that. Michael probably could, but he’s not here right now. 

Although it’s probably best to deal with that later. Right now, he wisely steps back before Rowena can even march forward towards them. The air temperature is rapidly dropping, and she’s noticed, speedwalking over to them until she’s crossed the barrier. 

“Jack,” she greets, and then, with a bit more exasperation, “Adam.”

“I am so sorry,” Adam immediately says. “I promise that was not intentional.”

She hums, still slightly irritated, but more amused by how terrified he is at the fact that he just busted a headlight. She glances to the hunters, staring blankly into the distance, and then turns to Jack with a raised eyebrow. “What’s all this?”

“If we say ‘nothing’, will you let it go?” Adam asks.

She smiles thinly.

Jack laughs nervously. 

“Do Sam and Dean know what you’re doing?” she asks.

“No,” Jack says.

She nods. “Then you have ten minutes to explain to me what’s going on.”

Behind her, Jack can see that three spirits have already formed behind the barrier. It’s intact, though. There shouldn’t be any problems. He shares a look with Adam.

If there’s no ruckus and nobody’s screaming murder, neither Sam nor Dean should have any reason to leave their posts, so they tell her. There’s no bluffing past it, and Rowena would feel it if Jack was trying to compel her, because while he’s powerful, he’s not experienced enough to be stealthy about his abilities. They couldn’t fool her if they tried, and she’d probably be able to help them with all this anyway.

They tell her, between constantly interrupting each other to finish the other’s sentences, about Belphegor’s plan to siphon everything that came out of Hell via Lilith’s Crook, in order to stop the barrage of ghost attacks. They tell her about their plan to break Belphegor and Michael out of the salt barrier, which they just executed, and about how Sam and Dean have no idea what the hell they’re doing and would probably draw and quarter them if they did.

Shit, if  _ Cas  _ knew Jack would be dead. Actually, he’d be grounded for some time, but everyone else would probably be dead. 

Rowena pinches the bridge of her nose when they’re done. The crowd of spirits behind the barrier has returned to how it was before Michael had blasted them back, although these were likely different ghosts. Jack shifts uneasily. They’d tried to explain quickly. It’s been less than ten minutes. 

“Every year, someone tries to compete for the Stupid Olympics,” Rowena says, “And it doesn’t matter which one, it’s always a Winchester in the lead.”

Adam looks offended.  _ “Excuse me?” _

“Winchester-adjacent, then. Your little band of would-be heroes, every single time,” she says, actually flicking a finger at his forehead. “Michael and Belphegor are on their way to the cemetery?”

“Yes,” Jack says. 

“There’s not much out there that can stand up to  _ The Archangel  _ himself, aside from maybe your collective brains put together, and he’s on your side, so they should be fine,” she says. “Where are Sam and Dean?” 

“Sam’s up front, I think,” Adam says. “I don’t know where Dean is.”

“Castiel?”

“In the gym,” Jack says. “The civilians are there.”

“Then my first order of business is there,” Rowena says, brushing past them. When she notices they aren’t following, she turns around, looking impatient. “Well?”

Jack blinks. So does Adam.

“Well,” Adam says. “Are you, uh, gonna tell Cas?”

“No,” Rowena says. 

Jack’s shoulders sag in relief. Adam lets out a sigh. 

“You’re going to tell them yourselves.”

“What?  _ No!”  _ Adam says. “He’s going to kill us.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched your stupid plan,” Rowena says, turning on her heel to continue towards the door. “Besides, I don’t think he’d mind much if you actually explained it instead of hid it. It certainly got me here.”

“Michael’s blast range was that  _ wide?”  _ Adam asks. “Holy shit.”

“Indeed, but what you should be concerned about is, if that bomb of grace went off with that large a coverage area,” she says, and motions to the barrier behind them. “Then how is it that so many ghosts can return to the barrier in so little time?”

Jack turns towards the barrier. 

The entire street is covered with ghosts, all pushing and shoving at each other with more force than the earlier crowd did. Jack can see more of them, crawling or flickering over, wide-eyed, and almost-animalistic looks on their faces.

Jack steels his jaw.

“If anything, I think this crook plan of yours is pivotal,” Rowena says, opening the door. “So let’s hope it goes off without a hitch. Now get inside. You have some explaining to do.”

“Um,” Jack says.

Rowena huffs. “What now?”

Jack motions towards the hunters. “I don’t know how to change their memories,” he says. “I kind of rendered them unresponsive to anything the second I noticed you, but they definitely saw your car arrive, and, uh.”

Rowena looks up, like she’s considering praying. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she says. “Must I do everything myself?”

* * *

It’s like Stull all over again.

Michael doesn’t know why he’s thinking that. He’s not headed for certain grief, like he had been when he’d had to face off his own brother, knowing that one of them would have to die - although that had been derailed because of Sam, and perhaps that was for the best. He’s not sitting on some throne either, waiting for the pieces to fall into place while he was directing his generals from on high, until he finally had to descend to the battlefield himself. 

He’s running barefoot down a cold, asphalt street since some ghosts had grabbed his shoes and he’d immediately slipped them off, dragging a Fallen with him, swatting a frying pan at anything Hell’s spat out that has decided to stand in their way.

_ “Watch it, Michael!” _

Belphegor ducks as Michael kicks the frying pan he’s tossed into the air and is just coming down, foot hitting the flat bottom of it and sending it straight over the demon’s head, where it bursts past five ghosts behind him, at the same time coating both hands in a minute amount of grace to spear through the ghosts around him, twisting on his foot that’s still on the ground. As the direct area around them clears, he plants his raised foot on the ground and extends a hand out, telekinetically summoning the frying pan back. The second it hits his palm, he swings it around to smack it into the face of a rather angry spirit, which disperses with a scream.

“Fucking Prince of the Heavenly Hosts,” Belphegor mutters under his breath. 

Michael grins as he pulls the hand holding the pan back, and then throws the pan out. It arcs around them. “Let’s go!”

Thankfully, Belphegor is quick on his feet when he’s terrified, and he immediately sprints after Michael. The frying pan’s already curved around their side and is losing momentum from gravity, so Michael gives it a bit more telekinetic push. It completes its 360 degree trip around them and returns to his outstretched waiting palm. 

Michael doesn’t wait, instead, he throws it straight out, cutting a line through the ghosts in front of them. He twists as he moves forward, hands out, striking as many ghosts as he can. As he turns, he coats his feet in grace, bending downwards and catching himself on his palms, still twisting, kicking out everything in his way before pushing off ground to get to his feet.

He hasn’t fought in so long.

“You look like you’re having fun and I  _ hate it,”  _ Belphegor says. 

Michael laughs. The space ahead of them that the frying pan has cut open is beginning to fill up again due to the ghosts, so he calls it back, watching them dissolve from iron contact, and catches the frying pan, swinging it out as he spins. 

He’s not human, and he’s never been human, so he doesn’t know what it feels like to have blood pumping in his veins in excitement, he doesn’t know the adrenaline rush of battle, and he doesn’t know the thrill of being in a fight or flight situation. 

But he does miss this. It makes him stop for the briefest of seconds to realize that he misses this, because it reaffirms that the only language Michael has ever been fluent in is violence. He was built for it, even, if his father had in fact, planned his and Lucifer’s battle from the start. 

But -

But he hadn’t. Not really. He planned it from the start as a backdrop, an obstacle, a mere checkpoint in the grand story of the Winchester Gospels so he could see what the brothers would do in the face of the apocalypse. 

Michael was created to seek and destroy, because if that was not true, then there wouldn’t have been any need to create an army and have a commander for all of them ready at hand. People could tell him all they wanted that no, war only came to be after Lucifer’s betrayal, but first and foremost, Michael was born to  _ be  _ a soldier. He was born a heavenly weapon, and his ultimate purpose was, with all the knowledge he has now, simply to destroy his brother, just to see if two humans could think their way out of a situation.

There was no crushing grief that he would feel at the death of his brother written into that equation, even if at the time, he would have been able to convince himself that there wouldn’t be any of it. There was never any consideration for what else he was to be outside of this. The end-all and be-all of his existence was to be a prop for the end.

And that’s really just fucking sad.

But he’s not waiting for his cue at the end. Not this time. No, this time, he’s fighting in the middle of the street with a frying pan, a stranglehold of control on his grace, and no shoes on. There’s no script, there’s just him and some stupid ideas and a shitton of ghosts. 

“You  _ are  _ having fun!” Belphegor yells, appalled.

“So what if I am?” he asks, “Step left!”

Belphegor does, and Michael violently throws the pan at Belphegor’s right, where a ghost has attempted to swipe at him but is now nothing more but dissipated particles. The pan hits the ground so hard the asphalt cracks.

_ “Idiot,”  _ Belphegor says, smart enough to toss him his own frying pan so Michael can turn and smash it into the face of the ghosts behind him. “Your pan’s cracked.”

“I know,” he says, summoning the poor thing from the ground. It’s dented too. “But we’ll make it there, don’t worry.”

“I hate you,” Belphegor says. “I hate you. I will not stop saying this until we’re back at the bunker and I am  _ safe and sound,  _ with my stolen tamagotchis, and my nice, comfortable, non-haunted bedroom. We are surrounded by ghosts, and you are dancing in the street.”

“You haven’t stopped running, though,” Michael says, because they both haven’t. He’s plowing down every single ghost swarming their way, but they’re continuously moving forward because he refuses to stop, and so does Belphegor.

“Yeah, duh,” Belphegor says. “We’ve gotta save the fucking world.”

Michael grins to himself as he kicks a ghost in the face. 

On second thought, this is nothing like Stull.

He’s going to Hell to save the fucking world.

* * *

Castiel is pissed. 

Adam briefly considers hiding behind Jack, but if Castiel somehow summoned the might to do a smiting, even hiding behind the angel’s son wouldn’t protect him, so he ditches that plan. 

“You let Belphegor go out the school?” Castiel’s voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back from strangling both of them.

“Michael was with him,” Jack says.

Castiel’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t say anything, likely immediately seeing the necessity of the situation. If Belphegor betrays them and takes all the power for himself, for whatever reason, then Michael can stop him. If Belphegor  _ doesn’t  _ and is their only shot at stopping a potential bloodbath, then Michael can assure he’s getting Lilith’s Crook.

He pinches the bridge of his nose instead. 

“Sorry?” Jack offers.

Adam thinks Castiel’s eye actually twitches.

“I’m going to tell Sam and Dean,” he says. “You two stay here. It’s best they hear it from me.”

“Oh, I think Dean will still find a way to let them know he thinks that was a stupid move,” Rowena says, mixing her ingredients on one the cleared-out desk of the commentator’s booth.

“It’s our only move, right now,” Adam says. “There are rifts all over the world, Hell is wide open, and if we do stop anything, they’re just going to keep pouring in from there. There’s a good chunk of human history in Hell.”

“And demons,” Jack says. “Of all ranks. Not just black-eyed ones. Yellow-eyed ones, former angels. White-eyed demons.”

“And whatever other experiments Hell seems to have every century or so that results in like, a special demon taskforce.”

“And that.”

Castiel seems to freeze. 

“What?” Adam asks. “What is it?”

Castiel takes a second too long to answer. Adam feels himself start to sweat. 

“The Shedim,” Castiel says.

Rowena freezes. She continues her mixing as she catches herself, but she looks up. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Shedim,” Castiel says. “The demons that Asmodeus - when Jack was younger…”

“He tried to get me to free them,” Jack says, eyes widening as he catches up. “But if Hell is open  _ now -  _ “

“Then they’re out too,” Castiel says. 

Oh. 

Everyone in the room - at least, everyone who understands, because there’s a group of confused, frightened civilians across from them who are trying to eavesdrop even though they’re talking as quietly as they can without having to whisper.

“Then this appears to be a smarter plan than we’ve accounted for,” Rowena says. 

“I’m going to find Sam and Dean,” Castiel says, although he sounds a little disturbed. “Stay here, stand guard.”

“We plan to,” Adam says.

Castiel nods. He exits the booth quickly, but with markedly more terror on his shoulders. 

Rowena finishes her ingredient mixing and takes a step back, invoking her words of power and watching as the mixture goes up in a puff of blue smoke. Energy pulses out from it and into the room in ripples, seeping out into the rest of the gym.

“Protection spell?” Adam asks.

“An extra measure. The civilians cannot protect themselves, unlike us,” Rowena says. She gathers up her ingredients into her bag and zips it up. “Now, I move onto the barrier.”

“The one around the school or the one around the town?”

“The school first,” Rowena says. “And then I’ll fix the one around town, if it’s the one broken and these aren’t just some stray ghosts who’ve already escaped and decided to converge here.” She winces. “But frankly, I hope your boys’ plan comes through, because I would rather not wade into streets infested with ghosts to fix something that’s just going to come down with enough force anyway.”

* * *

They reach the town barrier.

Belphegor shudders as a realization comes to mind, and he stumbles over his own feet, landing face-first into the dirt.

“Belphegor, what are you doing?” Michael throws out both pans, clearing the direct area in front of them of ghosts.

The force of their energy is enough to weigh down Belphegor’s feet. Still, he pushes himself up to stand, and he looks up. The space around them is empty, but ahead, not even ten feet away, there are more, and they’re rushing towards them with gleeful looks on their faces. 

Michael’s almost glowing, now, still keeping heavy control on his grace, and still flying around like some dancer, but there’s so many of them. Belphegor has to stay standing. He has to run, so they can both get down to Hell and end this.

But the barrier - 

“The barrier is still intact,” he says.

Michael kicks at the twisted bodies of three people all mangled together, each individual’s bones sticking out of the wrong person, and lands on his hands. He spins, feet sweeping the spirits around him, before he catches both summoned pans between his toes. Quickly, but carefully, he lowers one leg first, snatching a pan with a hand, and then lowers the other as soon as his free foot hits the ground, snatching the other pan before sending them out again. 

In the momentary peace, he turns to Belphegor. “I know.”

The look in his eyes says that he’s come to the same realization Belphegor has.

Belphegor had assumed that the barrier had gone down. It was the only explanation. This many ghosts, headed for the school on purpose, and all at once could only mean that the nearest rift was the source of the attack, and that the barrier would then have, logically, fallen. 

But it’s still standing. 

Which means that the ghosts attacking the school are from outside the barrier. 

“How many are they?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “But we have to get going, Belphegor, that crook is the only chance we have of getting them under control.”

He nods. Right.

There’s a lot of ghosts in here, but Michael’s been plowing through the ones outside and he’ll plow through the ones here. 

Even if there’s already so many of them that they can swarm the whole school, and their rifts would have to be far, far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me beginning this series: hee hee crack without plot  
me @ me, thirteen chapters and 30k+ words later: the real reason why you're coulrophobic is because you are afraid of the heights of clownery you will reach


	14. Chapter 14

Belphegor has never been happier to jump into Hell. 

Most of the ghosts around the rift are more focused on crawling their way out of it, so when they notice that he and Michael are trying to get  _ in,  _ they decide to stop grabbing at them and just let them be. Let idiots be idiots and all that, although that doesn’t stop Michael from swinging at the ones that are in their way as they plunge down the rift.

Belphegor lands on heated, hard ground on his shoulder, letting out a grunt. 

“Ow,” he says, pushing himself up carefully. He hazards touching his shoulder and finds that the joint has popped out of place. Wincing, he grits his teeth and shoves it back into place, thankful for once that he’s a demon and not human. He looks up at Michael. “Unfair for you to land on your feet while I dislocated a shoulder.”

“You should be careful, that’s not your body.”

“Yeah, well, Jack’s not using it, it’s fine,” he says, standing up with a stagger. He takes in an unnecessary breath. The air reeks of sulfur. 

“Where to?” Michael asks. 

Belphegor surveys the area, studying the decor to get his bearings. 

“We go down, first,” he says, looking back up at the rift. Angry, jagged rocks poke out from the split in the ground, impossibly leading up to Earth when there should be a more metaphysical distance between the world and Hell. “We’re in the corridors for the Second Circle.”

Michael steps aside, letting Belphegor amble forward. The angel follows him as he continues down the narrow walkway, which opens up to a wider corridor that only leads to the left. Belphegor takes the turn. 

“You spent centuries cleaning this place?” Michael asks.

“If it was the only job they had for me,” Belphegor says. “This place used to be more - “ he waves a hand. “Hellish. Crowley renovated.”

“How much?” Michael asks. “I haven’t exactly had the time for a field trip prior to escaping the Cage.”

“Uh, a lot,” Belphegor says. “For one, we have more offices now. The entirety of the fifth circle is just an endless spiralling queue - which takes up  _ more  _ space than how the fifth originally was, by the way; a lot of us were pissed because  _ we  _ had to do the renovations - and the third circle looks like a cannibalistic version of dogscape. I have been eternally thankful that no one’s supposed to clean there on purpose.”

“I’m not getting the last part, but you’re obviously disgusted by it.”

“You’ll see, we’re on our way down there,” Belphegor says. “I fucking hate it.”

Michael hums. “Where is Lilith’s Chamber, then?”

“Left penthouse suite of the Pandæmonium,” Belphegor says. “Nobody gets the top floors other than the bigwig demons. Nobody else is allowed there either,  _ except  _ of course, if you’re a secretary or cleaning staff.”

“And you were cleaning staff.”

“And pencil-pusher,” Belphegor turns to him with a grin. “I know my way around Pandæmonium with my eyes closed.”

Michael returns his grin with a small, conspiring smile. A sudden image comes up in Belphegor’s mind - one of silver cities; bright, warm lights; and hymns. 

He blinks. He hasn’t had a memory of Heaven in a while. He  _ barely  _ remembers Heaven at all, and not because he doesn’t want to. He just literally can’t. He hasn’t been able to since his Fall.

He turns back to the corridor. Up ahead, there’s several doors, all leading to offices and break rooms. There’s a set of stairs that lead downwards. 

“Ah, here we go,” Belphegor says. “These corridors surround the circle for the demons to file in reports and then go back out if they’re on torture duty. Downstairs is the Third Circle.”

“The cannibalistic version of dogscape?”

“You wanna go look at it?” Belphegor’s smile takes on something more mischievous. “It’s probably empty now anyway, if they somehow managed to crawl their way out of their fucked up twister game.”

Michael only responds with a thoughtful hum. 

“Come on,” Belphegor says. “If I had to look at that thing for years, then so do you.”

* * *

Dean looks pissed. Adam turns to Castiel - who’d dragged him and Jack out the booth so they could talk outside - looking betrayed.

“I didn’t think you were going to drag him here,” he says.

“He didn’t need to, I would have come here anyway,” Dean says. “What the  _ fuck  _ were you thinking?”

“Saving your dumb ass and everybody else in this gym,” Adam says, crossing his arms.

“You could have been fucking killed,” Dean says. He turns to Jack, but the boy doesn’t offer any defense, instead just sheepishly looking down at the floor.

“Dean,” Castiel says, putting a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. There’s still people around them who can overhear, after all. They’ll be confused, but it’s better to keep as much under wraps as possible.

Dean closes his eyes and forces himself to take in a breath, clenching and unclenching his hands. When he opens them, a few minutes later, he looks much calmer, although his jaw is still tight.

“Where’s Sam?” Jack asks.

“Outside, taking care of things,” Dean says. “And checking the salt line.”

“ _ Hey _ , we fixed it right. If we didn’t, we’d all be dead right now,” Adam says. 

“He’s making sure there are no other breaks,” Dean says. “And you shouldn’t have done that anyway.”

“Too late, Belphegor and Michael are on their way to Hell right now,” Adam says.

Dean’s jaw tightens even further, but he says nothing. Castiel still has not removed his hand from the man’s shoulder.

After another few minutes of silence, Dean speaks again. “You’re sure their plan will work?”

“I don’t know about  _ will _ , but we know it  _ can  _ work _ ,”  _ Adam says. “Belphegor made the damn crook, he’d know the capabilities of it.”

“I wasn’t told that,” Dean says, turning to Cas.

“Neither was I,” Castiel says.

“Ah.” Adam shifts on his feet. “T-L-D-R is that Belphegor used to be a weapons tech in Hell before he got demoted to prevent any opposition in power. He made Lilith’s Crook.”

“He’d know how to tweak it to use it against us too, wouldn’t he?” Dean asks.

Adam quiets. Jack glances at him. 

“Yes,” Adam says. “But that’s why Michael’s with him.”

“Would an archangel’s power be enough to rival a demon who’s absorbed what would essentially be the entirety of Hell?” 

Ah. 

Well, they hadn’t thought of that, really.

“Michael’s smart,” Jack says. “He’ll handle it.”

Dean doesn’t look satisfied with the answer, but Adam doesn’t blame him. The situation’s already as tense as it is, they don’t need a new problem coming out of the works to fuck them all over. “He better be able to.”

“We’ll deal with it when it comes to it,” Adam says. “Plus, I don’t think Belphegor’s going to betray us.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” Adam says, but then snorts. “But he’s also scared shitless of the world ending.”

“Less shit to blow up?”

“No, he likes it up here,” Jack says.

“And you believe him because he told you so?” Dean asks. He sounds almost disappointed, which is fair. His entire career means the paranoid gets to live, after all, and he knows Belphegor less than he knows everyone else on their side.

“Yes,” Jack says. 

Castiel looks like he’s trying not to frown. 

Dean hesitates. “Jack - “

“I can see your point,” Jack says, adamant. “But we’re the ones who’ve spent time with him. He’s been helping us.”

“Doing what, shoplifting and breaking out the bunker?”

Adam puts a hand on Jack’s arm. There’s still no reason for them to reveal their hand, even if the situation seems dire. They need to keep them going behind the scenes a secret for as long as they can. 

Jack glances at him, conflicted, but backs down.

“Look, Belphegor created the crook,” Adam says. “He’s smart. Really smart. How do you think he immediately figured out a way to set up a barrier around town? And you told us he managed to banish all the ghosts in the cemetery during the night the rift was broken, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, tentative, but he’s listening. 

“There could have been a thousand different ways to do either of those,  _ or,  _ only a handful. You think it’s just pure luck that all the ingredients just happened to be in the area for those spells? The universe doesn’t hand you coincidences - “ Well, they do for Sam and Dean, but Adam’s pitching something here, so he keeps quiet on that. “ - Belphegor narrowed shit down so he could use a spell with what was available in the area.”

“It could just be coincidence,” Dean says. 

“Twice in a row?” Adam asks. “Since when were you guys that lucky?”

Dean pauses, and then concedes. “You got me there.”

“He’s scary smart, and I bet he could have found a way to fuck everyone over if he really wanted to, but instead he’s helping,” Adam says. “I think we can trust him. Worse comes to worse, Michael can smite him.”

“You’d bet on him being on our side?’

“Yeah,” Adam says. “It’s the apocalypse, right? We’re already on the losing side, what’s a few risks?”

Dean snorts, but he doesn’t seem angry. He pauses again, for a few more minutes, before he lets out a breath. He’s quieter when he’s exhausted, Adam thinks. Less stubborn. Or he’s just as desperate to put an end to the standoff outside as everyone else.

“Okay,” he says, eventually.

“Yeah?” Jack sound hopeful.

“Yeah, it’s the apocalypse. We’re already fucked,” Dean says. Tiredly, he steps back to lean on the wall behind him. He looks fucking terrible, covered in scratches and dirt. 

“What the fuck happened to you out there?” Adam asks.

“Ghosts. Too many of them. You’ve seen them,” Dean says. “Had to beat them off before we could complete the salt circle.”

“Do you think they’re all from the rift?” Jack asks.

“They should be, but…” Dean trails off, and then frowns, focused on a spot on the floor. The rigidity returns to his shoulders. 

He pushes off the wall. “Shit.”

“What?” Adam asks. “What is it?”

“It’s a hunch, but this is likely a planned attack. Someone’s coordinating this. It’s way too convenient for this many ghosts to jump us when they could just wander anywhere if the barrier around town’s broken,” he says. “And if all the doors of Hell are open - “

“All the high ranking demons would be too,” Castiel says, nodding.

Dean runs a hand through his hair, slightly frustrated. Then he snaps his fingers and points to Adam. “Okay, med student, you’re up.”

Adam blinks. “Me?”

“We’ve got people watching the barrier, but since it’s still holding, there’s no reason for us to not patch up the injured. We’re raiding the infirmary,” he says. He points to Jack. “You, you’re back-up in case something gets inside here. The second things get ugly and the hunters posted around here can’t handle it, you smite on sight. Got it?”

Jack nods. “Got it,” he says. 

“Dean, you know we have to keep him from looking like a threat to Chuck,” Cas says. 

“I know,” Dean says. “And we’ll hold the fort, but in case something goes wrong - because with our shit luck, we can’t count on anything - just in case, he’s our last shot.”

There’s a flicker of fear in Castiel’s eyes, terrified for his son. He looks out at the sea of people in the gym.

He nods. “Alright,” he says.

“Rowena’s still around, right?” Jack asks. 

“Yeah, she’s giving the salt line outside more juice,” Dean says. “We have no idea if it’ll break if there are enough ghosts.”

“It’s probably best if she stays here, then, in case it does,” Castiel says. 

“Not like she can get out with those many ghosts arounds,” Dean says. “Adam.”

Adam follows after him as he heads for the stairs, but then he nearly stumbles as he feels a thought laced with so much panic being shoved into his head, haphazard and frantic.

_ Milligan?  _ It’s Belphegor.  _ The barrier around town is still standing.  _

“What?” Adam says, and doesn’t realize he’s said it out loud until he notices that Dean has paused, and looks like he’s about to repeat the plan, but Adam holds up a hand to stop him.

** _The barrier’s still standing? _ ** He throws back to Belphegor.

_ Yeah,  _ Belphegor says.  _ The ghosts attacking the school - they’re from outside.  _

** _There’s other rifts in town?_ **

_ Listen, I don’t know - ow, fuck - but it doesn’t matter,  _ Belphegor’s thoughts swim around for a brief second.  _ Wherever they’re coming from, it’s -  _

“A coordinated attack,” Adam looks at Dean, meeting his eyes. “It’s Belphegor - telepathy and all that, we promised each other to keep in contact - the barrier around town is still standing.”

Dean’s eyes widen for just the briefest of moments. 

_ “Shit.” _

* * *

Because Hell doesn’t exist in the same plane of existence as Earth, there’s no reason for it to abide by Earth’s rules of physics, and so the geography of Hell is, by human standards, a mess. 

Not that any human marching down there, for whatever reason (although said might be because: Winchester) would notice, since humans tend to use old experiences as baselines in order to better understand new experiences, and thus usually only perceive things that they already know. Put simply, anyone going down Hell would think that it was just like Earth, with directions that made sense, just a little hotter and a lot more...hellish. 

Except Michael and Belphegor are not human beings, and are fully capable of perceiving Hell in all its glory, so as Belphegor leads them past the ninth circle, Michael immediately notices that instead of going downwards, they’re going upwards, but not back the way they came from. 

“Interesting,” he says. “And where would the Cage be?”

“Below the ninth circle and below this city,” Belphegor says. “If you’re like, hiking on foot. Obviously, there’s other ways of getting there. It’s also a long drop. I’ve never been there, I’ve only glimpsed it a bit.”

Michael hums. “And upwards, we’d get to Lilith’s Chamber?”

“Yep.”

The hallways of the building are deserted, although that’s to be expected. The very second the doors got thrown open, all the demons also probably thought to abandon their posts and head for the surface, if not to wreak havoc then to escape the horrors of Hell. 

Pandæmonium doesn’t look anything like the rest of Hell, though. Its walls and floors are stone, sure, but dated architecture is a far cry from human souls stuffed into one area too small to hold all of them, forcing them all to get their limbs tangled and tangled and tangled to the point where they’re all twisted up together. The cursed things were still granted the ability to feel hunger and appear to have never been fed since they’ve been dropped into Hell.

Michael had taken on Belphegor’s offer to give him a peek of the Third Circle, so the demon had opened one of the doors that lead to a mezzanine overlooking the circle and he’d looked over the edge. The circle wasn’t so much a circle as an impossibly massive tank that wasn’t even  _ close  _ to full, but the circumference of the area was so small that all the bodies were piling up below and  _ squirming  _ as all the spirits cried out for food. Some of them were eating each other in their desperation, and a few had somehow realized that the demons that usually tormented them even further had disappeared, and that it’s been too long since they’ve been left alone. Unfortunately, the few who’d noticed this couldn’t get very far, as their legs and their arms (and a few necks) were still bent and twisted around all the other souls near them, and they only got as far as clawing over each other, never gaining an inch. 

“If they’re going to get out of here, they’re going to have to move all at once, with precise coordination,” Michael had said. Belphegor had immediately looked green in the face and said, “Please never let me think up that image again.”

Compared to that, Pandæmonium is just a regular, if badly-decorated building. It’s tall, but thankfully, time in Hell is slower than Earth’s, so their hours of running up the stairs are likely just going to be seconds on Earth. 

Which works in their favor, because after several winding staircases, they’re finally in front of Lilith’s Chamber. 

The doors are wide open, and the whole place looks empty. 

Belphegor, hunched over with his hands on his knees as he catches his breath (drama queen, he doesn’t even need to breathe), looks at the open doors and yells, “You have to be  _ shitting  _ me!”

“Scavengers?” Michael asks.

“I’m guessing,” Belphegor says, “Let’s just hope they didn’t take the crook’s box.”

Michael lets him have the brief rest. After a minute, Belphegor stands and heads for the room, still a little unsteady on his feet. 

A rather sharp spear whizzes past him.

“What the  _ fuck!”  _ Belphegor yells, lucky enough that the spear misses his side by a narrow centimeter and instead lands behind him, embedding itself into the stone floor.

There’s a demon in the room, looking just as panicked as Belphegor, although his expression eases when he sees exactly who’s in front of him. It flickers back into uneasiness when he spots Michael, though.

“Belp?” the demons asks. He doesn’t move from his place. 

Belphegor turns back to the room.  _ “Malfayan?”  _ He surveys the place, the empty room and the open doors, and the bag that Malfayan is carrying. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Malfayan instantly goes rigid. One hand goes up to the string of the bag he’s slung over his shoulder. “What? Not like Lilith’s coming back.”

“Yeah, okay,” Belphegor says. The demon takes a step back, a little to the side, putting enough distance between him and the spear that he’d be able to grab it. Michael watches his hands. 

Ah. The angel keeps his eyes on Malfayan. 

“Here with a crew?” Belphegor asks. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

“I’m not,” Malfayan says. He came here alone, then, but he couldn’t have cleaned the whole place out himself. He’s only got one measly bag with him, and a ring on his hand.

“Course you’re not,” Belphegor says. 

“Didn’t take  _ you  _ for the type.” Malfayan nods towards Michael. “What, are you working with angels now?”

“Eh, you know, desperate times, it’s a wild world up there,” Belphegor says. “It’s the End and all that.”

“It’s always the end every other year or so,” Malfayan says. “Those Winchesters get into a lot of trouble.”

“Yeah, they’re klutzes with apocalypses, but it looks like this one’s gonna be the big one though. The end to end all ends and shit. The big man upstairs himself said so,” Belphegor says. He attempts a shrug, but Michael’s seen the demon do it enough times to know that he’s on edge. “Winchesters pissed off the wrong guy this time.”

“Really?” Malfayan looks surprised. “They pissed off the big man himself?”

“Yep,” Belphegor says. “Fuckin’ impressive if you ask me, but the rest of us are going down with them, so - “ He waves a hand behind him, gesturing towards Michael. “Temporary truce it is. ‘Sides, this guy’s been in Hell long enough too.”

Malfayan frowns slightly, and then turns his attention to Michael. At first, nothing happens, but then the expression on his face slowly morphs into one of horror.  _ “Archangel Michael.” _

“The one and only,” Belphegor says. “What, you didn’t recognize him?”

“Not everyone remembers Heaven, Bel,  _ you  _ know that,” Malfayan snaps, giving Belphegor a nasty look.

Belphegor’s shoulders stiffen. Slowly, like he’s forcing himself to let the tension go, they relax, but only by a bit. “Yeah,” he says. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Whatever. Say, you wouldn’t know if there’s a chest still in there, right? Seen anyone grab it, maybe? Nondescript little thing, has some squiggles on it?”

Malfayan doesn’t answer. 

“Mal?” Belphegor asks. 

The demon shoots a hand - the one with the ring - forward.

_ “Michael, get down!” _

Michael does as he’s told, dropping down to the ground, but makes sure to keep his eyes forward. He feels the air above him suddenly go cold and empty, like the very particles of reality and space above it are being obliterated. Belphegor himself has ducked, but he grabs the spear and lunges forward, keeping his body low, torso parallel to the ground as he rushes at Malfayan.

“I’m still a demon, you dumb fuck!” Belphegor yells, stabbing the spear into Malfayan’s host’s stomach, before the momentum of his lunge crashes him into his fellow demon’s knees. Both of them go tumbling onto the floor, Malfayan landing awkwardly on whatever’s inside his bag.

Michael hazards a look upwards. The space above him is empty.

Not empty as in there’s nothing. Empty as in he’s looking at  _ nothing.  _ There’s no wall, no space between the ceiling and the floor - nothing. Just pure empty blackness like someone had ripped the picture of reality open. 

Someone cracks a blow on a jaw, and he turns his attention back to the fight in front of him, pushing himself forward so he can stand safely without hitting whatever’s going on with the patch of emptiness above him.

“Then why’d you duck, moron!”

“Because that ring is unstable as shit!” 

Belphegor lands another punch at Malfayan’s face, but the demon screams and smashes his forehead against Belphegor’s, knocking him backwards. Taking advantage of Belphegor’s momentary incapacitation, Malfayan stumbles to his feet, the spear still sticking out of his side. He’s keeping his eyes on Belphegor who’s pushing himself to sit up by his elbows, so Michael steps forward, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and clamps a hand on the demon’s head.

Michael catches a glimpse of the terror in his eyes.

In a flash of light, the demon is gone, leaving only its host with a spear sticking out of its side. Michael checks for a soul inside the body as he keeps his hold on it, and finds something small and curled up still tucked away inside of it. 

Carefully, he sets the body down on the floor, taking the bag off its shoulders and pushing it aside. He grabs the spear’s handle and yanks it out, before hovering a hand over the body’s injury, closing the wound up.

“I had that handled,” Belphegor says, breathing hard. His glasses are missing - Michael sees them at the side, one frame broken - and he’s bleeding from his forehead. 

“Sure you did,” Michael says. He stands, having finished healing the human’s wound. He turns back towards the hallway. The patch of nothing there seems to be slowly healing, particles of what should be there drifting back into place. “What was that?”

“Haxon ring,” Belphegor says, motioning to the human’s hand. “It’s an anti-angel weapon. Basically sucks all the grace out of you.”

“One of yours?”

_ “No.”  _ Belphegor looks offended. “It’s Lilith’s. She never perfected it, not without any angels to test it on. It’s unstable.” He tries to stand, but then winces and sits back down. “Ow.”

“You actually feel the pain?”

“I’m trying not to, I’ve been getting used to being in a body these last few weeks,” Belphegor says. 

“I’d heal you, but it would probably kill you,” Michael says.

“Yeah, I’ll risk this instead,” Belphegor says. “Check his bag, I’ll go look at everything else.”

Michael nods, kneeling beside the sleeping human to open Malfayan’s bag, while Belphegor crawls away until he eventually manages to stand, although he nearly trips on his feet as he makes for the shelves. 

It turns out there’s only one thing in Malfayan’s bag, large enough that even with the drawstring pulled taut, the opening could barely close. Michael carefully takes it out, just in case it’s explosive. 

It’s a box. Nondescript little thing. Has squiggles on it. 

“Belphegor.”

“Mm?” Belphegor looks almost drunk as he turns, listing to the side before he puts a hand on the shelf to steady himself. 

Michael lifts the box. “I found it.”

The demon nearly trips again as he runs forward, pinwheeling his arms to prevent himself from losing his balance. His knees smack against the hard floor from how quickly he gets down. 

Michael lets him pick the box up and attempt to pry it open with his hands. It doesn’t budge.

“Good. Okay. It’s still sealed,” he says. “Now - I’d open this if I could, but while I made the crook, Lilith was the one who sealed it in this thing, so even  _ I  _ couldn’t use it if I somehow got my hands on it.”

“I know, you’ve said this.”

“Yeah, but,” he says, and hesitates.

“But?”

“Well,” Belphegor says. “I promise you I’m not shitting you but - “ He twists the box in his arms so that it’s facing Michael and he can read the enochian on it rightside up. “ - you’re gonna have to sing this.”

Michael blinks.

“I swear on my wings, I am not fucking with you right now.”

Michael turns to the sleeping human, snoring away and unaware that he’s just been exorcised, and then to the hallway, where the patch of empty is now about the size of a human hand and is getting smaller. 

He sighs, grabbing the box.

Belphegor’s grin is shit-eating. 

“I hate you,” Michael says. 

“Way ahead of you, dude, now get on it.”

Michael lets out another sigh, reading the inscription. He’s doing this shit for Adam. 

He keeps his eyes on the box as he sings, not even risking a glance up at Belphegor. This must be what mortification feels like, which is new, and not even the surprising sort of new. It’s just new and disgusting and he hates it. 

The box’s lid shifts, the fine ridge between it and the chest’s body widening as it pops free. 

“I hated that,” Michael says. 

“Learn something new everyday, turns out you hate singing,” Belphegor says, and when Michael looks up, the demon looks insufferably smug. He only stops himself from swinging a punch because they’re on a mission right now. 

Belphegor opens the lid, lifting out a horn from the box. Lilith’s Crook.

“I’m going to have to set the range for this thing,” Belphegor says. “Because it’s not a one-size-fits-all power siphon, it registers intent.”

“So you can either control everyone under the alliance of Hell, or you can simply subsume them,” Michael says. 

“Yes,” Belphegor says. They both share a look for a moment. “We’re facing off against the apocalypse…”

“Could you release anything you’ve subsumed?”

Belphegor shakes his head. “No. I can change this, of course, but as it is, I can’t release anything I’d absorb. They’d just be turned into energy.”

Michael nods. “We’ll talk specifics later then. I want you to focus on controlling everything first, make the spirits around the school stop their attack.”

Belphegor nods. He gets to his feet, raising the crook.

Just as he brings it to his lips, a clap rings out in the hallway in front of them. 

Then another, and another, the amused applause of someone who’s been watching them the whole time. 

Michael steps forward, one arm held out, like shielding Belphegor and the crook from view would help. 

“I must say, I didn’t expect Hell’s weapons genius and Heaven’s battle tactician to genuinely work together,” Chuck Shurley says. He smiles. “Michael.”

Michael frowns. “Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a slut for sibling dynamics where they would sell each other to satan for one corn chip but if anyone else tries, they work extremely well together.


	15. Chapter 15

Adam feels a chill run down his spine. He startles, looking up in confusion from the arm he’s stitching up.

“Kid?” Dean calls over to him, reloading a shotgun. Beside him are several other hunters assigned to the same task of reloading everyone’s weapons. 

“Nothing,” he says, sounding unsure. He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just a bad feeling.” He motions a hand. “Which means jack shit right now, considering…”

Dean laughs. “Shit ton of reasons to get a bad feeling right now,” he says, but after a minute, he asks, “Do you think they’re okay?”

Adam, who’s gone back to stitching up the arm he’s working on, blinks. “What?”

“Mike and Bel,” Dean says.

“Michael hates it when you call him that,” Adam says, automatic. “I...don’t know.”

Dean looks to him.

“I don’t know, they’re not talking to me right now,” he says. The wound he’s working on is closed now, so he snips the surgical thread. The hunter he’s helping gives him an appreciative nod and makes her way over to Dean’s group to pick up a reloaded gun. “Why’re you asking anyway?”

His brother gives him a casual shrug. “Experience always tells me that when I get a bad feeling, it’s not something to brush off.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, how many situations do you think we’ve gotten in?”

“You have a point, you practically live in danger all the time,” Adam says. He returns everything he’s used back into the kit they’d ripped off the infirmary wall. Tentatively, he tries to find that familiar mental link between him and the others. The one connecting him to Belphegor is strained from the distance, with the one connecting him to Michael doing a little better. 

“Guys?”

Focus broken, he looks up. The hunter who’d spoken had sounded concerned. Adam turns towards the salt barrier. 

The ghosts appear to be stepping aside, parting to make room for something.

“What the fuck are they doing?” someone mutters. 

Dean motions for the others to stand and take up arms. Thankfully, majority of everybody’s wounds have already been patched up, and they’ve rested a bit. 

“Les, go tell Sam the ghosts on our end are acting weird,” Dean says, and a hunter in a blue jacket with one of the sleeves ripped off nods and makes his way towards the other side of the school, where Sam’s group is. 

Adam stands, picking up the first aid kit, careful not to drop the bulky thing on his foot. He steps back slowly as the hunters around him form a defensive line on Dean’s command, Dean himself standing in front of him so he’s effectively shielded from the ghosts’ view. 

Still, he peeks to the side. The ghosts have now formed a clear path for a smaller group of ghosts who’re lumbering forward slowly, carrying something between them.

“No fucking _way,” _Adam breathes.

A vengeful spirit, or any ghost, given enough experience in the human world, can manipulate certain things. It’s the very reason why there are movie cliches of people getting scratched and things getting thrown around places. Often, it takes a long, long time to be able to achieve these things, and at most, the common vengeful spirit is able to manipulate small things for a small period of time.

But a group of them, however, would be able to do a considerable amount more, especially when they concentrate their efforts together.

Like say, for example, drag a leafblower over to the salt circle.

“Shit, _fire!”_

At Dean’s command, all the hunters start shooting, aiming for the group at the very center of the path that are painstakingly trying to carry the leafblower by holding onto the plastic parts. 

For all the determination and the teamwork that the hunters have, however, the ghosts seem to be just as fired up by team spirit (no pun intended), as the second the shooting starts, several of them at the front start diving in the way, taking salt bullet after salt bullet, while a few others immediately dive for the leafblower to grab it and keep it moving even as several of them are gunned down. 

And with their massive numbers, it looks like it’s working.

“What the fuck,” Adam says, frozen in place as he watches the scene. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying that the ghosts have figured out a way around the salt.

They can’t send them all back to Hell even if they somehow found _all _of their graves. Not when the entirety of Hell is open. They’re sitting ducks. Adam doesn’t want to know if the ghosts know that, because if they do, they’re fucked. 

“Aim for the leafblower!” Dean yells.

Adam bubbles up an almost hysterical laugh.

The next round of salt bullets are all aimed towards the leafblower, which takes them with the resistance that a leafblower has to salt-and-metal projectiles heading towards it at terrifying, destructive speeds, which is that it gets holes peppered into it, even as the ghosts continue to attempt to hold onto it.

The damn thing gets ripped to shreds.

The ghosts stop, suddenly, although the ones still holding onto the leafblower aren’t letting it go. All their efforts have brought them three steps away from the salt circle.

The hunters also stop, not keen on wasting their limited amount of salt bullets.

Then, the ghosts - the ones holding onto the leafblower - start forward again, one slow step at a time.

“What are they doing?” Adam hears someone ask. “That thing’s broken.”

Another step. Dean’s shoulders tense. He turns back towards the school.

One last step. They’re by the salt circle.

_“Everyone get close to the building!”_ Dean yells. _“It’s not over yet, the hallways and doorways are salted!”_

Adam mentally punches a fist into the air. Their plan _did _come in handy. 

_“Get that fucking leafblower, and don’t let them hold onto anything else.”_

There’s confusion all around even as the hunters start pedalling back to get closer to the building. Adam runs up to the porch before turning back to the fight in front of him, his back to the door. He realizes it, suddenly.

The ghosts, carefully, tip the broken leafblower forward, the mangled plastic tube touching the ground. Then, with it firmly touching the grass, it’s nudged forward.

Breaking the salt circle.

Almost immediately, the field erupts in a chorus of gunshots and inhuman screaming. Adam vaguely catches the sight of the leafblower being dragged sideways so that more of the salt is scattered before he rushes back inside the school building - making sure to step over the salt line inside - not keen on getting in the way when Dean needs to focus on fighting. 

The hunters are shooting, some waving around iron pokers and a few other items that they’d managed to scrounge up around the school, but there’s almost an entire field of spirits out there, pushing and shoving and scratching at everyone. The only advantage they have is that the ghosts are easy to dissolve momentarily with the iron, but only if they’re fast enough to hurt them without getting attacked. 

The school’s hallways and windows are salted, which is going to make it harder for the ghosts to get inside and essentially trap them in a maze if they should get in, but the civilians are trapped in here too, and there’s enough ghosts out there that the barrier around the cemetery didn’t even need to be broken for this sort of attack.

“Hurry up, guys,” Adam murmurs, looking out at the carnage through the glass of the front doors. He’s not talking to the hunters. “We need your help.”

* * *

“Michael.”

“Father.”

Belphegor goes rigid, even when Michael’s right in front of him shielding him from Chuck’s gaze, and even when the man himself is only looking at his oldest. His arms are frozen, still holding up the crook, and he knows he should put them down and he should get away from here as fast as possible, but his body isn’t listening to him. His own corrupted grace isn’t listening to him, and all he can do is just stand there and stare.

He’s not under any control. He’d know if he was. 

He’s just afraid.

Chuck’s smile is warm, and it scares him more than anything how the man can look like that despite everything that’s happening.

“Did you send the ghosts to attack the school?” Michael asks.

“Give me some credit, Michael, I plan things better than some freshly-emancipated demons who’ve finally crawled out of their pocket in Hell,” he says. “That attack’s kind of haphazardly put together, don’t you think?”

“I see,” Michael says. “Then goodbye, Father.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa -” Chuck holds up his hands, laughing lightly. “We see each other for the first time in years and you won’t even catch up with your old man?”

“I have no need when you are the reason we haven’t seen each other in years in the first place.”

“I admit, I messed up by leaving you in the Cage,” Chuck says, or at least starts to say, because Michael cuts in the moment he finishes that sentence. 

“Did you mess up leaving Heaven prior to that, too?”

A pause. If he had the clarity to, Belphegor would have laughed, but he’s focused on not metaphysically pissing himself right now.

“You know why I had to.”

“No, you didn’t _have _to,” Michael says. “You created this world. You write everything that goes into it and you _can, _if you wished to. You just let it run according to its rules most times. Nothing about this _had to_ or _has to_ happen. You _chose _to leave Heaven. You _chose _to abandon all of us.”

The warmth on Chuck’s expression is fading, slowly, even though he’s still smiling. Belphegor feels a shiver down his spine. 

“I don’t like the tone you’re taking with me, Michael.”

“Good,” Michael says. “It’s been a long time coming.”

Belphegor wishes Michael would shut the fuck up. If Michael shut the fuck up then they’d probably get out of this alive or be smited with a minimum amount of pain. But since Michael’s running his mouth, they’re both likely to die now.

Chuck clicks his tongue. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“But you’re still going to listen, anyway,” Chuck says. “This universe is collapsing in on itself, and you know that. I’m starting anew. Starting with a fresh canvas, and - well, I’d rather skip some steps.”

“I’m not interested,” Michael says.

“I am a forgiving father, Michael,” Chuck says, with a softer look on his face this time. “I know that your time in the Cage hasn’t been kind to you, and I admit that it wasn’t in my plans. The plan was for you to defeat Lucifer - “

_“Don’t give me that bullshit.”_

Belphegor startles so bad he actually takes a step back, focus switching to Michael. 

“The plan was to see how the Winchesters would overcome your plan for the first apocalypse, that was it. I was never in the equation, and neither was Lucifer,” Michael grits out. “Do not fucking lie to me.”

“Language.”

_“Fuck you.”_

“Michael,” Belphegor says, sounding so, so small and so, so afraid, that his own voice pulls up a memory for him. Somewhere bright but cold, somewhere where he could hear screaming and he was trying to put his hands over his ears. Somewhere where he invented his first creation, which wasn’t any spell or any weapon or any ritual - just pure, unadulterated fear in a universe still starting out. 

Michael glances at him, but only for a brief moment. His expression doesn’t change.

“You know, I was planning on solving this peacefully,” Chuck says. “I still do love you.”

“Funny that,” Michael says, “I never felt your love.”

Belphegor feels the air being knocked out of him before he realizes what’s happening. He’s tipping backwards, feeling the very atoms of his physical form being pulled away all at once, and he flails and panics, almost forcing himself to get out of Jack’s former body before he understands and reaches out for the archangel. 

_“Michael - !” _

But Michael’s only gracing him with one fleeting glance, a small, almost unnoticeable smile on his face that Belphegor wouldn’t have picked out if it hadn’t been for the weeks he’d spent with him. A single thought is shoved into his head in the space of the millisecond that Belphegor has to look at him one last time.

_Go save everyone._

And then suddenly Belphegor isn’t in Hell, instead travelling miles and miles and miles through Hell and Earth, until he’s blasted backwards into an empty school hall.

He crashes against the wall, nearly impaling himself with the end of the Crook that he’s still holding onto - his fear is good for one thing, at least, in that he’d clutched onto the thing tight - and he nearly bites his tongue as soon as his back makes impact with concrete. He slumps forward with a cough, his entire body shaking. 

_“...egor?....Belphegor..._Belphegor!”

He only realizes that Adam is calling him when he feels his friend’s hands on his shoulders, helping him sit up and leaning him back on the wall gently. 

“Belphegor? Hey, hey, hey, focus.” Adam slaps his cheek lightly. Belphegor weakly pushes him away, but the kid is still talking. “Are you okay? What happened?”

He notices the ram’s horn held close to Belphegor’s chest. 

“Is...is that the Crook?”

Belphegor, just a little bit more present, nods wordlessly. He takes in a breath, just as unnecessary as the last other ones he’s been taking his whole time on earth, but it’s comforting. Something about it makes his chest feel a little less stuffed and suffocating.

Adam’s expression doesn’t turn joyous, even with the confirmation that they have the Crook. 

“Belphegor,” he says. “Where’s Michael?”

_Go save everyone._

Stupid fucking angel. Stupid fucking Prince of the Heavenly Hosts and Heaven’s General who can’t even think his way through a situation and instead just pulls a sacrificial card even though he’s faced with the guy who made him and could probably unmake him with a snap of his fingers. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

_“Belphegor!” _Adam’s hands on his shoulders are crushing with their grip. Belphegor’s mildly aware that the shoulder he’d dislocated earlier hurts, but he’s still so out of it that he can’t even tune in to his body anymore. 

Adam looks like he’s about to cry, and Belphegor’s dazed-out look isn’t helping. “Belphegor, where’s Michael?”

It’s when he notices that there’s actual tears at the corners of Adam’s eyes that he manages to scrape up the strength to speak. 

“T-the stupid fucker,” he starts. His voice is shaking and weak, a far cry from his usual smartass snappiness. “Agitated Chuck so his focus would be on him and him alone, and he wouldn’t even notice me.” He laughs, not feeling a single shred of mirth. “I don’t think he thought I’d notice, but of course I did. Of course I fucking did, I’m not dumb, but the fucking asshole - _that fucking asshole - “_

Adam is crying.

“He sent me back,” Belphegor says. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to him, but Chuck’s down there, and he sent me back, and he told me to save everyone - “

A memory. Somewhere bright but cold, somewhere where he could hear screaming and he was trying to put his hands over his ears. Somewhere where he first invented fear. Somewhere where he saw someone with bloody wings and a sword of fire, fighting against someone else made of pure light, and he swore to himself that he would always hate this place and those two selfish angels who decided a bloodbath would be better than anything else. 

Stupid fucking archangel. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ Belphegor says. _“I’m so sorry.”_

And he is, he really is. For the first time in his long, long life, he can say that he is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've reached the acceptance stage of realizing this is going to be longer than I initially thought it was gonna be, but that's alright, that just means I can pull more bullshit.


	16. Chapter 16

Jack sways slightly, feeling himself lose balance even though he’s standing on even ground. He holds onto the rails surrounding the booth to steady himself. 

His stomach feels like there’s hornets buzzing around in it, a nervous energy snaking up the rest of his limbs that makes him suddenly understand why people pace when they feel troubled. Something’s wrong.

The best he can describe what he’s feeling is that it’s like he’s sensing that something inside of him is hollow, and the hollowness of it is uncomfortable. He doesn’t know why this is, though. He’s fine, he’s not injured; all he’s been doing since Dean and Adam left is stand out here with his father, staying alert for any sign of danger. 

Carefully, he lets a miniscule amount of grace sweep through the room, trying to see if there’s anything suspicious inside, maybe someone who’s been possessed and is hiding in plain sight. He comes up with nothing.

It might just be a bad feeling from everything that’s happening, so he tries to reach out to everyone else, check in how they are doing on each of their ends. He finds Adam easily enough, even though his mind feels alarmingly still like he’s in shock, and Belphegor is surprisingly close enough to reach, his mind feeling like it’s overflowing with distress and grief. 

And - 

Jack feels like the ground’s being pulled out from under his feet. 

He reaches out, tries to grasp at the familiar feeling of the archangel’s thoughts, but no matter how hard he searches, he can’t find any connection to Michael. Just the hollow space left by it.

“Something happened,” he says, getting his father’s attention.

Castiel turns to him, concerned. “What is it?”

Jack feels his hands shake. He clenches his fists to make them stop. They don’t. “I can’t feel Michael anymore.”

* * *

Adam Milligan was nineteen years old when he died. 

It was painful, in the fact that he never saw it coming, that it could have been avoided if John Winchester had just given a damn and told his mother the truth about the supernatural, and the fact that since then, he’s never seen his mom. 

And the fact that he was eaten alive, of course, but he still keeps thinking about those three things until now, so when he thinks about his death, he thinks about everything else other than the physical pain of it. The memory of physical pain dulls down a thousand years later, anyway.

He and Michael say it’s been ten years because it’s easier to adapt to Earth that way. It’s easier for Adam, really, if they frame the way they think about time by Earth’s linear calendar. It’s a delicate balance; spending years of isolation in Hell, coming back to an Earth that’s so, so different from what Adam remembers (if he even remembers anything correctly anymore) and trying to stay sane. It’s easier to simplify things, for his sake. Michael insists on it. 

Michael likes looking after him like that. He’s been looking after him since the Cage, in the same way Adam looks after him - an accord they’d struck with each other after Michael told him to shut the fuck up and stop singing Mamma Mia, and Adam told him to deal with it if he was going to be a snobby elitist prick. They’d had a rocky start, but they’d had nothing but time to get over that rocky start, in the Cage. And, in between snickering at Lucifer under their breaths every time the archangels stopped fighting long enough for there to be hushed conversations, they’d managed. 

Adam isn’t surprised - although if he’d been told when he had actually been nineteen that he’d end up being best friends with an archangel, he’d probably have thought it was a bad joke before forgetting about it. He and Michael are very different people who’d bonded over laughing at a situation they probably shouldn’t have laughed at. 

And for a long, long time, they were alone. Alone, and there was no longer any need for hushed conversations. No need for Michael to hide him from Lucifer’s angry, bitter clutches.

The silence had been a lot more frightening than the explosions of light and grace were. At least those were something to process, something to experience. The Cage was vast and endless, and it was very, very empty. Adam could walk forever and never find an edge, never find any cage bars to give the place its name, because it wasn’t so much a literal cage as a space of pure void meant to never connect to anything. It was just a true empty.

“Like the universe before it began,” Michael had told him.

“Huh,” Adam had said, lying flat on his back in the nothing and staring up at the equally flat nothing of what should have been the ceiling. “I thought there was chaos and water and wind.”

“Oh, there was, before everything was created, but the universe already existed then, it was just unformed. In the beginning, there was nothing,” Michael said. “And this is all that remains of that nothing.”

“The corner of the paper your dad forgot to doodle in,” Adam had said and Michael at that point had stopped telling him to cease his blasphemy and had just rolled all of his many, many eyes. 

Michael had lived for millenia and had a vast, vast mind, and while the Cage was an empty nothing, it didn’t do anything to prevent archangels from creating illusions out of memories, and the archangel had obliged for Adam. It was fun to pass time that way, listening to human history from the eyes of an angel, attempting to recreate Adam’s own memories from whatever Michael took his descriptions to mean and laughing at the hilarity of things being lost in translation. 

They were alone, but at the very least they were alone together.

Then Hell opened up.

But they’d stuck together, still. Heaven was a mess and Adam didn’t trust the angels to let him in anyway, and he had no plans to live out the rest of his existence staying stationary in only one memory. All of the other archangels were dead, and Michael wasn’t too keen on facing anyone else yet, not after years and years of isolation. 

The world was strange and the world was new to them in so many ways, and even though they were surrounded by so many things, they were laughably still alone. Still only had each other.

And now, no matter how hard Adam searches, pushing at the grace woven into his soul to look for the thread that linked his and Michael’s thoughts together for this stupidly dangerous mission, he can’t find anything. He’s waving his hand over a cliff, finding nothing but air.

His brain grinds to a halt. 

Michael’s not there. 

_Michael’s not there. _

He knows there’s tears streaming down his face. He can feel them. He can feel his nose clogging up and he can feel how his knees hurt - he’s fallen to the floor, absolutely stunned - and he can feel how much his hands are shaking. But his brain is a blank, not even the mental static that suffocates it from when he tunes the rest of the world out due to sensory overload.

Michael’s gone. 

Belphegor is crying, hunched over and holding the crook to his chest, choking down ugly sobs as quietly as he can like he’s afraid of making too much noise. There’s no tears for him, not with the absence of working tear ducts, but his shoulders are shaking and Adam can practically feel the grief rolling off of him in waves. 

He’s never been the most open with his thoughts. He’s always been fond of deflecting and distracting and being a general ass so people never got too close to him. 

Adam trusts himself to be a good judge of character, though, and this is genuine. 

It’s this thought that makes Adam force himself to come back to reality, a herculean effort given how much he just wants to curl up into a ball and scream. 

“Belphegor,” he says. The demon raises his head, slowly, blank eyesockets looking up at him. Adam realizes then that he’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s only just noticed. “Belphegor, show me what happened.”

“What?” Belphegor asks, confused, too deep in his grief to register what Adam means.

“Show me what happened,” Adam says, holding out a shaky hand. The demon frowns, but slowly, he processes the words. His expression turns confused again, but this time it’s at where Adam’s going with this, but he reaches a hand out to meet Adam’s, palm facing down.

The rush of memories is thick with guilt, but Adam parses through it, from the moment Belphegor and Michael left the school, down to Belphegor being unceremoniously shoved through space back to the main hall. Adam watches the images flash by in his mind’s eye.

The demon, the Haxon ring. Chuck, standing there smiling. Michael stepping forward and moving just a bit to the side to make sure that Belphegor was behind him. Michael talking and bouncing insults off of Chuck when he normally would have answered in curt, but harsh responses. 

Belphegor feeling himself being pulled backwards, realizing what’s happening and reaching out towards Michael because he’s being so fucking stupid.

_Go save everyone._

A single thought and a smile.

Adam blinks himself back into the present.

He wipes the tears from his eyes. He stands.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he says. 

Belphegor’s voice catches itself in his throat when he tries to talk, but instead of trying again, he pauses. After a while, he says, “...explain?”

“He wasn’t telling you to save everyone because he thought he was going to die,” Adam says. “He told you to save everyone because time is of the essence and you’re the one who needs to use the crook without interruptions.”

“You - what - are you sure?” Belphegor looks like he’s not trying to be relieved prematurely. “You’re really sure?”

“I spent a thousand or so years with the guy, Bel, give me some credit,” Adam says, laughing lightly. It makes him tear up again, but he brushes the tears away with the back of his hand. 

“But how do you know that?” Belphegor says. “Chuck was there, anything could happen.”

“I know. I know anything could happen,” Adam says. “But I also know that Michael’s a strategist, and he’s not gonna sacrifice himself in a situation where we need all the firepower we can get. He’s not gonna do anything without a plan. So he sent you here, to save everyone, and then when that threat is gone.” Adam smiles. “He trusts that we’re gonna save his dumb ass.”

Belphegor only stares at him for a minute in disbelief, but Adam’s confident. He knows Chuck is dangerous, but he also knows Michael is a smart son of a bitch, and he’s definitely not the martyr type. They just have to be smart enough to find a way to save him.

“You’re both fucking insane,” Belphegor breathes, leaning back on the wall behind him. He looks to the side, and then, like a thought’s come to him, he laughs. His laughter grows until he’s clutching his stomach.

“Ah, fuck,” Belphegor says, standing up, hefting up the crook. “You both have similar taste, and it just so happens you both fit in what you’re looking for, huh?”

Adam kicks his shin. Belphegor’s too tired to actually dodge so it connects and he lets out a hiss in pain, hopping on his good foot backwards.

“Little shit!” Belphegor yells.

“People might be dying outside, use the fucking crook like he told you to,” Adam says.

Belphegor laughs again, instinctively wiping at his eyes, like he’s forgotten he can’t cry anything. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says. When he straightens up and pulls his hands away from where he’s wiped at his eyes, two bright yellow irises are looking at Adam. 

“Huh,” Adam says. “So there literally would have been no difference between that body’s old eyes and yours?”

Belphegor nearly whacks him over the head with the crook. Adam ducks and laughs this time.

“People are dying outside, shut the fuck up,” Belphegor says. The light in his eyes are dying out to a lovely shade of brown. He raises the crook to his lips. “Let’s get this over with and save your angel.”

* * *

Jack’s a step away from the gym’s exit when he hears the crook ringing out, loud and clear all around the school. The ground underneath him starts to shake.

He looks up. Castiel, who’d been attempting to dissuade him from following Michael and Belphegor into Hell for the last several minutes, looks up. There’s relief in his face.

“They did it,” he says. “They found the crook.”

Belphegor had been close. He must be back in the school then, this has got to be him. 

But then, where’s Michael?

Jack tries to search for him again, trying to connect to his thoughts, but he still can’t find anything. He shoves the gym doors open and bolts down the hallway. 

_“Jack!” _his father calls out behind him.

Michael’s in danger. He can’t be dead, not him. He’s an archangel, he’s not gonna go down easily. But he’s in danger, and Jack and the others have to save him.

His shoes make a sharp sound across the floor as he forces himself to a stop as soon as he’s in the main hall. Belphegor is standing there with Adam, who looks like he’s been crying. The demon’s got the crook and is playing it, as loud as he can. When he runs out of breath, he tries again, keeping the crook held high. 

“_Five!_” Adam yells over the sound.

Jack makes his way over to the doors, slowly, putting his hands over his ears. There’s so many ghosts outside, but they’re not moving. They’re just standing there, all facing the school with blank looks on their faces. The hunters around them are swatting them down in droves, with whatever iron objects they’re holding in their hands. 

Belphegor’s run out of breath. There’s a brief pause, but thankfully, nothing happens. 

“_Six!_” Adam yells out. He’s counting the amount of times Belphegor’s playing.

The crook sounds out again. Still, the ghosts outside do not move, and the hunters are cutting through them easily. After a few minutes, Belphegor pauses. 

“Seven,” Adam says.

Belphegor plays the crook one final time, and then, silence. 

Jack turns just in time to see the poor guy nearly collapse. Adam catches him before he does and helps him sit. 

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, running over to them. “Where’s Michael - oh, wow.”

Belphegor looks up at him with actual eyes. Jack thinks he was probably doing them both a favor when he hadn’t healed the burnt eyesockets, because it’s unnerving looking at your doppelganger. 

But he looks like he’s been through hell and back, so Jack saves that for later. 

Castiel, having caught up, heads towards them. “What did you do?” he asks, taking in the crook on the floor and Belphegor looking ill.

“Michael told him to take control of every thing that came out of Hell,” Adam says. “So he did.”

“So - so everything - “ Jack turns to look at the doors again, before looking back to Belphegor, who gives up on sitting and just lies down on his back. “It’s okay now?”

“It better _fucking _be,” Belphegor says, squeezing his eyes shut. “I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Hell is massive and I can feel the entirety of it right now.”

Jack and Adam both wince.

“Where’s Michael?” Castiel asks.

Belphegor rolls over to throw up. Adam frowns, but not at him.

“We don’t know,” he says. “He sent Belphegor back with the crook.”

“Why?” Jack asks. The crook itself is lying beside Adam, thankfully far away from Belphegor’s sick. 

Adam takes a while to answer. When he does, he sounds grim. “Chuck was there.”

Jack stills.

Behind him, he hears the front doors of the school open, followed by several footsteps. The hunters are bringing all of their injured inside, Dean barking out orders for everyone else to attend to. 

“You guys got the crook?” he asks, stopping beside Cas. He glances at everyone, counting, and then frowns. “Where’s Michael?”

“Sent me back with the crook,” Belphegor manages to heave out, crawling away from his mess. He lies back down on the floor and stares up the ceiling. Jack gets the weird feeling of looking at an actual double again. Belphegor looks weird with healed eyes.

Dean appears to be of the same opinion. _“Belphegor?”_

“The one and only. Did you forget my face already?” 

Dean kicks his foot lightly. “Fucking smartass,” he says. “But where’s the archangel?’

“Chuck found them,” Adam says, “He sent Belphegor back to use the crook.”

Dean only frowns, looking at Belphegor suspiciously.

“Stop it, Dean,” Adam says, tired. “I saw his memories. I know he’s telling the truth.”

“He’s a yellow-eyed demon, he could have changed those memories,” Dean says.

“I know,” Adam says. “But I trust him.”

“Adam.”

“And he saved your asses, didn’t he?” Adam stands and spreads his palms, a gesture of giving up. He’s exhausted. “Look, I know he’s a demon. I know you barely know him. But can you please, _please _trust all of us right now? It’s not just Belphegor. It’s all four of us together on this.”

Dean doesn’t answer. 

“Dean,” Jack says. “I trust him too, if that means anything.”

The hunter turns to him, the harsh look in his eyes softening just a bit. Then he turns back to Belphegor, who sluggishly brings his attention from the ceiling to Dean.

“What?” he asks.

And then immediately seems to regret it when Dean steps forward. He looks like he wants to sit up and scramble back, but he’s too tired to do so, so the only thing he can do when Dean crouches beside Adam is stare at him, alert and ready to bolt but not sure if he can.

“Yellow eyes, huh,” Dean says.

“Yeeeees?” Belphegor says, unsure, and then, “I know you have a bad history with demons of that eye color, so I can wear contacts if you want.”

“You are such a fucking smartass, shut the fuck up,” Dean says, but he looks amused. He quiets, studying Belphegor for a moment, and Belphegor, a demon under a microscope, does nothing but stay still.

Dean clicks his tongue. “Good move, showing your eyes to say you’re not keeping secrets anymore,” he says.

Belphegor mock-gasps and puts a hand to his chest. “Oh, he has a brain.”

“You’re on thin ice, but keep making jokes like that, I will drown you in the lake myself, got it?”

“Yessir,” Belphegor says, with a little salute, but there’s clear relief on his face. 

Dean snorts, stands, and leaves with a kick to the demon’s foot again. _“Clean your fucking mess too, I have hunters to do a headcount on,” _he calls out as they watch him disappear down the hallway. 

Jack feels a smile creep up onto his face. At least some things are going right.

“That was easier than I thought,” Adam says.

“That may be the case, but I still don’t trust you,” Castiel says. Still, he holds a hand out for Belphegor to take. The demon makes a show of straining to reach it before Adam slaps him on the back to pitch him forward. He grasps Cas’ hand with a laugh, and Castiel helps him up. “What else did Michael instruct you to do?”

“He said to save everyone,” Belphegor says. “And - well, I wanted everything to stop attacking everyone, so all of Hell that’s on Earth is sort of frozen in place right now.”

“That gives us time,” Castiel says. “And an army.”

Belphegor nods. “We just need to know how to use it.”

“Can you tell where everything that belongs to Hell is on Earth?”

“I can...try? I’m not sure, my head feels like puree right now,” he says. 

“He should probably rest first,” Adam says. “Sam and Dean are gonna hold a meeting anyway. And - “ He looks at Jack. “We still have to save Michael.”

Jack nods. Earth may be saved from whatever’s spilled out of Hell’s gates right now, but there’s still the matter of stabilizing the universe and saving Michael. And maneuvering around Chuck so he doesn’t know that they’re trying to save Michael and fix the world, but apparently they’re going to have to be more careful than usual, because every precaution they took before still got Michael and Belphegor found out anyway.

Though - 

“Do you think we should still be careful?” Jack asks.

“What do you mean? Of course we should,” Castiel says.

“No, no, I meant - “ he shares a look with Belphegor and Adam. “We were careful, and Michael and Belphegor got found out anyway. Even if we do everything in our power to be careful, Chuck can still find out and we’re just gonna be fighting him with an arm tied behind our backs.”

“Yeah, but…” Adam starts, but then looks down at the floor, deep in thought. 

“You’re thinking about closing the rifts yourself again?” Belphegor asks.

“If it’s going to help, yes,” Jack says. 

“Jack.”

“Chuck has Michael,” Jack says. “We were careful, and Chuck has Michael. The only reason he’s not going after me right now is because he’s decided not to. Why not do something while I’m still here?”

“Jack, Belphegor’s right.” Castiel puts a hand on his shoulder. Jack blinks, stopping himself, remembering the look on Castiel’s face when they’d first reunited. 

The relief on his face. His death had broken his father’s heart. 

“I know, but,” Jack says. “What if we’re just squandering our luck because we’re holding back? We know Chuck’s weak to _some _degree anyway. That has to be something we can take advantage of, right?”

Adam has an idea. Jack can see it in his face, in the way his eyes widen and how his posture changes. 

Belphegor does too, apparently, because he’s twisting around trying to reach his back pockets, trying to get something out.

“What are you - “ Adam starts, but then Belphegor pulls out a wrinkled, battered bingo card and holds it up to his face.

“Luck!” he declares, and when he realizes he doesn’t make sense, seems to think fuck it anyway and continues to confuse them all by grinning like a madman, still holding the stupid card up. “Luck,” he says, “I think I know how we can save Michael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael, somewhere out there, @ the rest of the bastards panicking: QUIT TELLING EVERYONE I'M DEAD


	17. Chapter 17

“Hey Rowena,” all three of them say when the door opens and she enters the room.

Seeing as all the infirmaries were filled and they all needed to meet with the hunters anyway, Castiel had dragged Belphegor and Jack to the hunters’ meeting room to wait there while Adam helped out with the injured. Belphegor had offered to share his idea on Michael, but Adam had said that his own idea might need to happen alongside Belphegor’s so it was best to get as many people rested and ready as possible, so they’d postponed their plotting and instead waited for Sam and Dean to have some free time.

It’s been a few hours since, but the Winchesters needed to rest, so instead, they’d raided the kitchen for juice packs and are currently sitting around the meeting room, Castiel babysitting them.

“Boys,” Rowena says, nodding in acknowledgement. Castiel gives her a nod in greeting as well, and she inclines her head in return. She’s pulled her hair up into a bun and has shed her coat, opting for more comfortable clothes since she’s likely to stay the night in the school anyway. Her eyes immediately go to the crook, lying on the table. “So this is Lilith’s Crook?”

“Yeaaaaah, s’not’ery flashy,” Belphegor says, chewing on the hard plastic straw he’s drinking through. 

Rowena picks up the crook, holding it up experimentally. She pauses. “Very powerful.”

“Thanks,” Belphegor says.

“And _you _made it?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting,” Rowena says. She turns the horn around a few times, like she’s searching for something, but she’s not finding anything on the surface. She looks down the inside of it and then nods to herself, apparently finding what she’s looking for. 

Belphegor crosses something off his bingo card before tossing his empty juice pack at the steadily growing pile of empty packs by his side. “I’m not accepting commissions, stop looking at that like you’re about to tell me to make you something for exposure.”

“I can make my own, don’t you worry,” Rowena says, setting the crook down. “It won’t be runed in Enochian, but I’ll manage.”

“The crook’s runed in Enochian?” Adam grabs the crook and closes an eye to look at the inside with the remaining open one. “Huh. Did Lilith rune this too?”

“Yeah, I just told her what I needed it to say,” Belphegor says. “If she didn’t trust me and wrote it however she wanted it, it would’ve been a bust, but hey, turns out she values my expertise.”

“So the crook plan still could have failed anyway?” Adam asks.

Belphegor stares at the table like he’s just realized that and then points a finger to Adam. “Ah.”

“Idiot,” Adam says. 

“Idiot,” Jack immediately parrots, not a beat late.

Belphegor flips them both off. He crosses off another box, skims his bingo card, and then sets down the pen, satisfied.

“What’s that?” Rowena asks.

“A bingo card,” Castiel says, sounding tired.

“An apocalypse bingo card,” Belphegor corrects.

“So he insists,” Adam says.

“Cranky because you don’t have one, don’t you?” 

“Shut up,” Adam says, turning his chair to look around. “Is there cardstock in here?”

“I think I saw some vellum boards,” Jack says, getting up and making his way to one of the teachers’ desks pushed to the side. He opens up drawers until he finds the one with the stack of vellum boards. 

He slides them over to Adam as he sits back on the table. Adam immediately grabs a board and folds it into four parts, carefully licking the folded edge so he can tear it up easier.

“You are disgusting, just get a scissor,” Belphegor says.

“Fuck you,” Adam says.

“You’re gonna get a paper cut though,” Jack says.

“This is a blunt edge!”

“Children,” Rowena says, sharing a look with Castiel, exasperated. 

“Unfortunately,” Castiel says.

Adam tears up the board and takes one of the pieces, before he realizes he doesn’t have a pen and stands up to look for one. Belphegor offers his pen to Castiel. 

Jack takes one of the torn pieces, showing it to his dad. “I’m making one.”

Castiel sighs and takes a piece.

“Ah, parenthood.” Rowena chuckles. 

Adam snickers as he sits back down, tossing a pen to Jack so they can both start on their cards.

Rowena picks up Belphegor’s bingo card, tattered and creased from how much running and being thrown around Belphegor has had to endure. 

“You won,” she says, “And without a bonus tile too, impressive.”

“And I earned that win too, considering I had to do half of the shit I crossed off myself,” Belphegor says. 

“Did you write this before or after the attack?”

“Before,” Belphegor says. “Coincidentally right before, in fact.”

“Lucky,” Rowena says.

“You said we were gonna save Michael through luck,” Adam says. He’s finished making his grid.

“We _can, _not we will, there is a distinction. I haven’t tried this yet - oh, and write things that you think are going to happen next, don’t cheat and make tiles for what’s already happened,” Belphegor says. Rowena slides the card back to him.

“Why not?” Jack asks.

“‘Cause we might need your cards later,” Belphegor says. “It’s an apocalypse. There’s a shitton of tropes you can write down.”

Castiel looks even more tired than he already does, but he thankfully also hasn’t written anything down. He sits back, thinking it over. 

“You’re not going behind Sam and Dean’s backs this time?” Rowena asks, amused. “No compelling everyone to ignore you and letting someone else fix it?”

“Sorry.” Jack winces. Rowena just laughs.

“Sorry,” Adam repeats, “But no, not this time. I think - I think this time we have to just go all out even if it catches Chuck’s attention. ‘Cause we might already have Chuck’s attention anyway.”

“But you stopped the attack, didn’t you?” Rowena asks.

“I don’t think that was...a concern of his,” Belphegor says.

“Oh?”

“He didn’t organize the attack,” Belphegor says. “The Shedim did.”

Jack looks up to see Castiel steel his jaw. 

“He was concerned about those,” Adam says, when Belphegor looks confused at the angel’s reaction.

“Ah,” Belphegor says. “I can sift through their thoughts a little - the entirety of Hell’s, really - but I can’t get a clear picture of things right now. Even having them as background noise is giving me a headache already.”

“It explains why there were ghosts coming in from outside the town barrier,” Castiel says, “And in alarming number.” He writes something down on his card. “If Chuck’s goal wasn’t to attack the Winchesters, then he had reason to stop it,” he says, “Which means he was just after Michael.”

“He tried to send for him, once, when we first got topside,” Adam says.

“Then he needs Michael on his side,” Rowena says. “Or wants, whichever.”

“If he wants firepower, we have Jack to match Michael,” Belphegor says. “But we’re still deficit something to match Chuck himself.”

Jack looks at the crook, and then at Belphegor.

So does everyone else.

“Ahaha.” Belphegor lifts a finger in warning. “No.”

Jack frowns. “Bel.”

“I’m smart, but I’m a coward. There, I admit it, I can’t face off against the guy who made me, okay?” 

“Not even out of spite?’ Rowena asks.

“I can be persuaded to, but it’ll be a different story altogether when it’s the actual PVP,” he says. “Besides, I can barely hold it together when I’m being aware of so many con - consciousness - _so many people _at once.” 

“You might go berserk,” Castiel says.

“Exactly.”

“Even if you’re a demon?” Jack asks. “That can happen?”

“Well,” Castiel answers instead, “I...once subsumed leviathans. Creatures older than even angels, but significantly less in number than the entirety of Hell. I imagine the advantage of sheer number that Hell has can match their power, though, at least when condensed.”

“What happened?” Jack asks, curious.

“I,” Castiel says. “Exploded.”

Jack cringes.

“Dude,” Adam says, although he’s laughing a little.

“Yeah, and I don’t want to explode,” Belphegor says. “Creatures have a threshold of power they can’t go past. When they reach their limit, their forms tend to break down. Adjustments usually have to be made, but they’re much harder when you’re not human and you don’t know how to make adjustments.”

“And Chuck usually did those,” Castiel says.

“So even if you did absorb those souls, it was a 50-50, huh,” Adam says.

“You could have died, then,,” Jack says.

Belphegor shrugs. “Eh, Michael said make an army instead, so it’s fine. Besides, even if I had to absorb Hell, it was a now-or-never kinda thing. At least until Chuck showed up,” he says. “And now we’re short an archangel.”

“Still,” Jack says. 

Belphegor shifts, uncomfortably. 

“He’s not used to emotions, boys, let him be,” Rowena says, after a long pause of silence.

“It’s fine,” Belphegor says. “We have a whole ass army now. We can use that.”

“We’ll figure something out around it,” Castiel says. “The four of you have managed to put the entirety of Hell to a standstill. We might actually stand a chance.”

* * *

“You look terrible,” Adam tells Sam, when he and Dean finally enter the room. 

The man lets out a sigh through his nose and takes a sip of his coffee before grabbing a chair to sit down on. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam says. Dean snickers as he takes a seat beside Sam. Adam tosses his empty juice pack at Belphegor’s trash pile. “Don’t look smug, you look like shit too.”

“Slightly better shit,” Dean says. “You guys got more plans?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, shoving Belphegor’s shoulder lightly so he jolts up awake from where he’s sleeping, arms folded on the desk. 

The demon honest to goodness hisses at him as he swats his arm away. “Piss off, Milligan.”

Adam laughs. “Shut up, we all know you were pretending,” he says. “Time to explain why the fuck we’re gonna save Michael with a bingo card.”

“You healed your eyes?” Sam asks. “I mean - Dean told me, but it’s…”

“Still weird to look at?” Jack says.

“Yeah.”

“Aw, come on, you’ve been seeing this face around for years, it can’t be that weird.” Belphegor turns to Castiel. “Right, Cas?”

“Don’t push your luck, I can always find a staple gun.”

“Ah, well, one day,” he says. He leans back on his seat, relaxing. “So,” he starts, “It’s the end of the world.”

“You got Hell under control in one giant swoop,” Dean says. “Please don’t tell me the problem’s worse than it is.”

“Well,” Adam says.

“Fuck,” Dean says. He pinches the bridge of his nose before giving up and putting his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on the table. 

“How bad is it?” Sam says, taking the news slightly better with the coffee he’s nursing. 

“You want us to rip the bandaid off quickly, or do you want us to let you down slowly?” Adam asks.

Dean looks up to share a look with Sam for a second, and then both of them nod. 

“Rip the bandaid off,” Sam says.

“Oh, we’re totally fucked,” Adam says, just as Belphegor and Jack also start talking. “Beyond comprehension.”

“Neck deep in shit, and not because we’re standing in it; we’re already trying to swim,” Belphegor says, ever eloquent. 

Jack cringes. “Yeah, it’s...bad. It’s not just Hell.”

“You three seem to know a lot more about the situation than you’ve told us,” Castiel says.

“Well, they did go behind your backs to try and save everyone,” Rowena says, leaning forward, amused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that wasn’t the only time they’ve done it.”

The three of them quiet down. 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

Jack elbows Adam. 

“_Jack,” _Adam whispers, even though the rest of the room can hear him just fine from how quiet the rest of the school is, exhausted from evading a near-massacre.

“This was your idea,” Jack says.

“Actually yeah, he’s right, you were the one who brought up the idea,” Belphegor says. 

“I thought it was all four of us against the apocalypse,” Adam says.

“Yeah, but you’re the one who brought it up in the first place,” Belphegor says.

“All four of you against the apocalypse?” Castiel asks. 

“Ah, see,” Adam starts, falters, and then thinks for a moment and sighs. It’s not like there’s really anything the Winchesters can be pissed about, they didn’t do anything stupid (bar compelling every hunter in their immediate area so Michael and Belphegor can run to Hell). They were trying to help, and one of their plans had already succeeded, so that had to be a point in their favor. 

“Go on,” Sam says, gentler so as to be more encouraging.

Adam nods. “Bear with me here, because we had some wild theories.”

So he talks. He tells them about their initial discussion of the whole thing - that, since Chuck is writing this universe as a story, would it not make sense for them to attack it like a story? Belphegor butts in for a moment to mention the universal tears, and Jack butts in to mention his trip to the Empty, and between the three of them again trying to explain something and constantly interrupting each other, they spend the next two hours explaining their thought processes and what they’ve done behind the scenes. 

By the end of it, Sam looks like he wants a second mug of coffee, since he’d sat through the whole thing without getting out the room; everyone else looks like they want a whole pot.

“I mean,” Sam starts, after a long, long, long bout of silence. “You have a point, sort of.” He pauses, finding nothing else to say. 

“And you only bring this up now because you feel that it wasn’t working?” Rowena clarifies.

“Yes,” Jack says. “Chuck still got Michael.”

She nods. “I see,” she says. “Which makes it possible that he either _is _aware of everything that goes on behind the scenes even if it’s not the focus of the story, or you are correct in your assumption that he focuses only on certain parts and Michael just happened to be one of those parts.”

“But Michael did have a point when he said that Heaven’s focus was on the Winchester bloodline, and only that bloodline. There were other bloodlines, yes, but all of them were in relation to the original plan of the apocalypse,” Castiel says. 

“So literally anyone who didn’t have a role in the apocalypse, was just - “ Dean makes a shrugging gesture. “Scott free?”

“Essentially.”

“And by your logic - “ Sam points to Adam. “ - that would be people existing just for the sake of worldbuilding.”

“Yes,” Adam says.

“So you’re right, except all four of you are part of the Winchester Gospels,” Sam says.

“Ideally, you want people who have no idea who these two idiots are to stop the apocalypse.” Rowena motions to Sam and Dean. Dean gives her an offended look. “But you can’t do that, because that defeats the purpose of stopping the apocalypse, because the apocalypse _is_ integral to the Winchester Gospels, blah blah blah - “ She waves a hand around. “Cyclical argument.”

“In our defense, we did the best we could with what we had,” Belphegor says.

“And we thought since Chuck was weak, then maybe his awareness of everything was lessened,” Jack says. 

“If he wants Michael so badly, then he is,” Rowena says.

“Chuck told him he wanted to skip some steps in making a new universe,” Belphegor says.

“Oh, and the boy would be a fool to believe him. His father created a thousand other Michaels, Dean here would know.” Rowena jabs a thumb towards Dean’s direction. The man just frowns at the reminder of Apocalypse-World-Michael. “And he forgot about him for years while he was in the Cage. Do you think he wouldn’t just create a new Michael to go along with a new universe if he had the capability to?”

“No,” Adam says, frowning down at the table. 

“Exactly,” Rowena says. “This Michael is only special to him now because he has a use for him.”

“So he _is _weak,” Sam says. “We just need to know how weak he is and how we can blindside him.”

“Weak enough to need an archangel,” Dean says. “So we should be thinking around _two _Michaels in terms of power.”

“We have me,” Jack says, raising a hand. 

“That’s one archangel’s worth,” Dean says. “We still need another.”

The room quiets for a moment, thinking. 

“Well,” Castiel says, “There’s the crook. If we can find someone who can stand to absorb Hell, we might have someone else to match the power of an archangel.”

“We’re getting Michael back anyway,” Adam says. “If Chuck doesn’t have Michael, there wouldn’t be a need for us to look for someone to match his power.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna save Michael anyway. With him and Hell, we’d stand a better chance,” Jack says. 

“And I’ve got a plan for that,” Belphegor says, picking up his bingo card from where he’s put it on the table to wave it around. “But Milligan said he had a plan too. Let’s hear it.”

“Well,” Adam says. “Even if Chuck is more aware than we initially thought he was, he’s still weak. Awareness wouldn’t do much if he can’t stop full force attacks at all fronts at once.”

“You’re saying we fight him with everything we have?” Dean asks, “Just brute force?”

“Not exactly,” Adam says. “One, there is the problem with the rifts. We need to close that. Two, there is the problem of Chuck himself, have to get rid of him. Three, if someone absorbs Hell and uses that power to fight him, that would destabilize Hell, and our universe would still collapse. I’m saying we address all of this all at once, and get rid of Chuck.”

“If he’s weak, he can’t stop it all at once, not when he also has to worry about himself,” Sam says.

Belphegor sets down his bingo card, staring at it as realization dawns on him. “And if we get Michael back just as we do all of that…”

“He’s unable to stop us and has the power on his side lessened,” Adam finishes. 

“We just overwhelm him,” Jack says.

“Exactly.”

“It can work,” Sam says. A look with Dean confirms that his brother thinks the same thing. “We can still use all the ghosts and demons from Hell. Nothing collapses as long as they’re still around.”

“We can get the kid to close the rifts.” Dean motions to Jack. “You to get Michael back.” He motions to Adam. “You direct to Hell.” He motions to Jack.

“But the question is, would it be enough?” Rowena asks.

“It has to be,” Dean says.

“It can be if it was you boys against the universe spitting out whatever inanity it spits out at you on a daily basis,” she says. “You heard them, the universe only responds to you and only to you, because you are its center and its way of surviving. But this time, you’re not fighting the universe, you’re fighting the one who made it. The universe will let things align, but you can’t be stupid enough to think that by some fluke, it will be enough to fight something that exists outside of it.”

“Rowena’s right, Dean,” Castiel says. “We can’t rely on luck.”

“Funny that, since your whole plan to save Michael relies on luck, huh,” Adam mutters to Belphegor, who just jokingly sneers at him, while the others continue to talk out the logistics of their plan.

“We can weaponize Winchester luck, if you want more ammo,” Belphegor says.

“Ugh. Later, when we figure things out,” Adam says. He doesn’t say much else.

“He’s alright,” Jack says. “He’s the Prince of the Heavenly Hosts and he’s never without a plan, right? He’s alright.”

“Yeah, I know he’s alright,” Adam says. “I just hope he can stay alright for however long it’ll take for us to figure this out carefully and properly.”

“We can go back to your plan of gathering every monster on the planet to get them to help,” Rowena says, as the boys turn back into the conversation. 

“We can contact hunters,” Sam says. “But - as much as I have faith in everyone, I’m not sure what salt bullets and iron weapons will do against Chuck.”

“We can call Ketch, I guess,” Dean says. “Maybe he’s got some weird, obscure artifact he knows about.”

“I can...try to call for an alliance of covens,” Rowena says. “I don’t know if they’ll believe me, but their self-preservation has to be stronger than their hatred.”

“All of that together, if we do manage to pull it off, has to make a dent,” Dean says. “Because this would be an all-out war.”

“Well, it _is _the apocalypse,” Sam says, running a hand over his face. “For real this time.”

“For real this time,” Dean says, like he can’t quite believe it. “It’s really the big one, huh.”

“Which is why we stand a chance at convincing everyone we can talk to,” Rowena says. “We just have to sell it.”

“Okay, well, we should start talking to everyone, probably find a place to corner Chuck in, figure this out,” Sam says. He looks over at his empty coffee mug, realizing he’s probably going to be staying up for the rest of the day. 

“We’re forgetting something,” Castiel says. 

The room turns their attention to him.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“Chuck’s not the only thing who exists outside of this universe,” Castiel says, looking grim. “Where’s Amara?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is longer than my 2019 nanowrimo, the fuck


	18. Chapter 18

In the end, they all decide to let everybody rest. There’s not much they can do when they don’t have a solid plan anyway, so for now, everybody’s catching up on sleep before they’re sitting back down to discuss their options again. 

Jack and the others are back at their temporary room, also told to get some sleep for the rest of the day, but apparently all of them are restless, because Jack and Adam are both staring up at the ceiling blankly and Belphegor keeps rolling over every now and then because he can’t sleep.

“For the last time,” Adam says through gritted teeth after Belphegor turns on his side again. _“Stop.”_

“Nothing’s comfortable,” Belphegor says. 

“You don’t even need sleep,” Adam says. 

“Yes, but, I like pretending to,” he says.

“We can knock you out,” Jack offers.

Belphegor shuts up. 

Adam sighs in relief. 

The three of them just let the silence wash over the room. It’s been an eventful few hours, and the last few had still been stressful even if all they did was talk plans with everyone else. The sun is going to be up in a few minutes, and Jack thinks it feels like it’s been a whole week already. 

Belphegor moves again, but it’s quieter this time. Bastard really was just making noise on purpose. 

There are no windows in this room. As long as the lights are off, they can pretend it’s still night.

“Hey, Adam?” Jack asks.

“Yeah?”

“Why can’t we just save Michael now?”

Adam takes a while to answer. “If we do, we can get Chuck to show up right here,” he says. “He can just grab Michael again, and we’d be back where we started.” A pause. “And...truthfully, I’m afraid that will endanger everyone else. If Chuck gets pissed, there’s a hundred civilians who might get killed.”

Jack nods. “Michael wouldn’t want that.”

“Michael would expect us to be smarter than that, so we’re going to be smarter than that,” Adam says. “If being smarter than that means trusting him to hold out and planning carefully, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

He has a point, and Jack understands that it pains Adam a lot to say it, but it’s the logical choice, in the grand scheme of things. Michael would kill them with his bare hands if he knew that they’d deliberately endangered themselves and their only shot at saving at world just because they were feeling sentimental about him. He’d probably be touched, but in the end, he’d still kick their asses. They have one job, and they can’t afford to fuck it up when the rest of the world is at stake. 

“Bastard’s probably universe-hopping right now, or something,” Belphegor says, quietly.

“Is that why we can’t hear him anymore?” Jack asks.

“Probably,” Belphegor says. “Hell and Earth are one plane right now, or close to it, ‘cause of what’s going on, but everything else is still separate. It’s why humans have to pray to angels if they’re staying in heaven and everything. They have to invoke a name because it’s a gateway of power.”

“Huh,” Adam says. “So he could just be in Heaven.”

“If Chuck hasn’t chased him away from there, yeah,” Belphegor says. “But he’s smart. He wouldn’t lead Chuck to Heaven and have the remaining angels there fall at his feet. He’s not gonna put us at a disadvantage.”

“So he could just be in any universe right now,” Jack says. 

“Yeah,” Belphegor says. “Oh, shit, how awkward do you think it’s gonna be if he lands in Apocalypse’verse?”

Jack laughs. Adam snorts. 

“That would be trippy,” Belphegor says. “He can probably fix the place, if he has time, though.”

“He’s probably busy running,” Adam says.

“He’s got time to sightsee,” Belphegor says. “I wonder what’s happened there.”

“We got all the hunters we could here,” Jack says. “Of course, they…” He pauses, voice cracking at the end. Adam and Belphegor stay mercifully silent. He clears his throat. “Maybe in other parts of the world, the war is still going on.”

“They never got their closure, did they?” Adam says. “Some of their people got to cross over, and…”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, it’s - it’s fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jack pauses. “Yeah, me too.”

“Maybe we can help them,” Belphegor tries, “After we fix our front yard and all, of course.”

“What, you’re planning to stick around?” Adam asks. 

“I already told you my plan to rule Hell was haphazard, didn’t I? What, did I plan for Chuck to pop Hell open and for me to suddenly have the opportunity to seize the crook?” Belphegor scoffs. Jack eyes the crook, perched on a table pushed by the wall. “I like Earth. It’s warm here.”

“Hell’s plenty warm,” Adam says. “I mean, the Cage was cold, sure, but the rest of Hell’s warm.”

“Hell is _scorching. _There’s a difference,” Belphegor corrects.

“I’m slightly bummed out I’m the only one out of the four of us who’s never been to Hell,” Jack says. 

“And it’ll stay that way if we have anything to say about it,” Adam says. 

“Yeah, listen to your uncle.” Belphegor laughs. “It’s not worth it.”

“Why do you like Earth, though?” Jack asks. “Aside from that it’s not as hot as hell.”

“People here fight over the stupidest shit,” Belphegor says. “Pineapple or no pineapple on pizza. Mint ice cream or no mint ice cream. Is this game better than that? It’s all so trivial.”

“Earth’s pretty hellish too, you know,” Adam says. “Maybe a lot worse.”

“I know,” Belphegor says. “I’ve heard from every soul I’ve encountered in Hell. This place is the fucking worst, if we had to rank Heaven, Hell, Purgatory and Earth.”

“Why are you sticking around, then?” 

Belphegor hums. “Possibility,” he decides. “Earth sucks, but there’s always the possibility of it getting better. It can get worse, sure, but the fact that it can also get better is a deal breaker.” Jack sees him move his arms so that he can put his hands behind his head as a makeshift pillow. “I like possibilities.”

“Possibilities, huh,” Adam says.

“That is cheesier than I expected,” Jack says.

Adam laughs so hard, he probably wakes the rest of the school up, but no one’s getting up to check. Belphegor grabs his pillow and throws it at Jack.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, we look alike now!” he says.

“Hey, _you _stole my body.”

“We’re past that, we just saved a school together!”

Jack snickers. “I was stuck in here with Adam, so no, not really.”

“You keep bullying me but as soon as this apocalypse is over and I’m not dealing with this fucking headache anymore, it’s all over for the both of you,” Belphegor says, sitting up for a moment to menacingly point at both of them before lying back down. 

The silence this time is more comfortable. Friendlier. It’s like their usual days at the bunker again. 

“I think that’s why Michael likes it here too,” Adam says.

“Isn’t that just because of you - “

“I’m pretty sure that’s just because of you - “

Belphegor and Jack both accusingly point at each other from across the room. “Jinx. Double jinx. _Triple jinx. __**Shit!”**_

“You didn’t even say the same thing,” Adam says.

“It was close enough,” Belphegor says.

“Well, you can’t owe each other soda, we’re busy saving the world.”

“There’s vending machines,” Jack says. “Oh, man, I haven’t had nougat since I got back.”

“I owe you nougat, you owe me sparkling water.”

“You really are a demon, you drink that static shit,” Adam says.

“It tastes like how pop rocks feel like,” Belphegor says. He stretches, yawning. 

“Are you actually tired?” Jack asks.

“I’m stressed as fuck and I could sleep for years even if I don’t need it,” Belphegor says, listing forward so he falls onto his pillow face-first. His next words are muffled. “You two should sleep too.”

“He’s right, Jack, we should get rest,” Adam says. “We’ll plan tomorrow. Like, tomorrow-tomorrow.”

Jack nods. “Yeah. I think we should talk to the Empty anyway. If we can get the angels on our side, we can have more firepower.”

“Can we even convince them?” Belphegor asks, still not removing his face from the pillow.

“Well,” Jack says, pulling his blankets up to get comfortable. “Michael’s gonna.”

He sees Adam nod as the young man yawns. “Yeah,” he says, “Michael’s gonna.” He sits up, crossing his legs and inclining his head downwards. 

“What are you doing?” Jack asks. 

“Praying to him,” Adam says, smiling. “Gotta make sure he knows we aren’t just forgetting him, right?”

* * *

"Hello, Jack," the Empty says. 

“Hello,” Jack says, shifting on his feet. Sam and Dean hadn’t been keen on him purposefully almost drowning himself in the bathtub so he could visit, but Belphegor had told them that the only way to get Jack to speak to the Empty was to put him in a state of near-death (so he could still return to the land of the living) and that they’d done this before, so here he is.

The Empty is wearing his face again, sitting on a high throne with its legs swung over one armrest, back leaning on the other. 

He’s sipping a juice pack. 

“Quite a stir you boys have made on Earth,” it says. “I could feel it way over here.”

“You could?” 

“Mm.” The Empty tosses the empty - heh - pack into the darkness. It disappears out of sight. Jack doesn’t know if it landed anywhere. “The entirety of Hell reigned in and brought under one command - it’s like seeing a rampaging animal suddenly be collared.”

A nervousness starts to build in Jack’s stomach. “Is that a bad thing?”

“If you let Hell remain Hell, no,” the Empty says. It snatches a wine glass of something orange and clearly synthetic out of nowhere. Kiddie pack orange juice. “If you don’t, this whole house of cards collapses.”

_“We were that close?”_

This is bad. This is really, really bad. It may have been pure luck that Michael and Belphegor had decided to not absorb Hell, but if they had made the wrong decision, everything would have gone to shit. 

“Yes,” The Empty says. “I imagine your archangel knew that.”

Michael’s never without a plan. Right. 

“Speaking of him, he’s missing in action, isn’t he?”

“You know about that?”

“Solar flares like you and Michael, you’re hard to miss when you’re around and when you’re not,” it says, finally swinging its legs to the front so that it’s sitting properly. It hunches over, resting its elbows on its knees as it stares down at Jack. “What are you planning to do now, Jack Kline?”

Jack thinks over his next words. 

“I need the angels back,” he says. 

The Empty raises an eyebrow. “All of them?”

“Well,” he says, “Maybe not all of them.”

“Hm.” The Empty leans back into its seat, taking a sip of its orange juice. “I already told you no.”

“But the universe is collapsing,” Jack says, insistent. “And we’re up against Chuck. We need as much manpower we can get.”

“And he’ll snap everyone right back in here at the first chance he gets.”

“But he’s weak. We have Hell - we can use their numbers to our advantage. If we had the angels - “ 

“The angels will not bow to any of you,” the Empty says. “You know that.”

Jack finds himself at a loss for words at that. 

“Say I agreed to resurrect the angels,” the Empty says. “What then? You have a coup d’état waiting to happen. There will be rebels. There will be those that side with their father. You can’t opt to only resurrect your allies if it’s numbers you want, because a good portion of Heaven weren’t your allies, they were your family’s enemies. I doubt they would answer to someone they will only perceive to be Lucifer’s son, even if you’ve distanced yourself from your grace relations, and I doubt they will listen to Michael if they see that he had deflected.”

When Jack doesn’t answer, the Empty presses, “What are you going to do, Jack?”

Michael can convince them. Michael _has _to convince them, because they can’t afford anything else, but even if he can, he’ll need time, which they don’t have if they’re going to perform every single part of their plan all at once. They don’t have anything like the crook to be able to control the entirety of Heaven at once either, so all it boils down to is everyone cooperating. 

But the Empty is right. All the angels operate on blind faith. They have to be able to find a way around this. They have to, at the very least, find a way to buy time and convince everyone they can convince to get on their side. 

The Empty is something that wants to make its moves when it knows it will be successful, someone who only wages war when victory is ensured - a picky stickler to foolproof plans. But considering what is at stake, Jack needs someone to shoot down their stupid plans so they can come up with better ones. Still, if only they can get it to cooperate -

Wait.

“Hey,” Jack says. 

“Yes?”

“If an angel visits any part of this universe, Purgatory or Earth or Hell - anything outside of Heaven - would that lead to the collapse of Heaven? Say, if they were one of the few angels still around?”

“No,” the Empty says. “Sure, the lights would go out in Heaven, with their numbers, but it won’t lead to a universal collapse. The universe won’t fold in on itself.”

“What’s the difference?”

“If it’s a universal collapse, that end of this universe just blinks out of existence, creates a void in reality, et cetera, et cetera.” The Empty waves a hand. “If their lights go out, Heaven just goes on the fritz. It still exists, but it’s just unable to function. It can still be restored.”

“Okay,” Jack says. “And if you remove a good number of angels from here, would that lead to a collapse?”

“If you remove enough,” the Empty says. “Especially with the state of our reality.”

Jack nods. “Okay. Can you throw down anyone at anywhere within this universe?”

“I’ve got a good throwing arm.” The Empty shrugs. “I’d say so.”

“Okay,” Jack says a third time, grinning. All he needs is the Empty’s cooperation. That’s the minimum. “Thanks for answering.”

The Empty smiles, amused. “Have you figured something out, Jack Kline?” 

“Maybe,” Jack says, shrugging back. “If I can promise that I have a way to convince the angels, will you help us?”

“If you _convince me_ that you have a way to convince the angels, I will,” the Empty says. 

“Swear it,” Jack says, feeling brave. “Swear on - um - something.”

Belphegor swore on his wings. Jack’s not sure what Empties swear by, but there has to be something sacred enough to it to swear by. 

“Swear it?” The Empty asks.

“Yes.”

It hums, leaning forward again to rest its hands on the same cane Jack had seen the last time he was here, a cane it definitely wasn’t holding before but is now. It sets its chin on its hands, lazily. “Why should I?”

“Because you still exist within this universe,” Jack says. “And if it goes, so do you. And you like existing. You told me that.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention.”

“More than people give me credit for.” Jack grins. “Swear it.”

“You realize you are essentially making a deal with me,” the Empty says. “Your family does not have a good track record of making deals, Jack. Do you want to invite that misfortune?”

“This one’s to save the world,” Jack says. “I think - if it’s for the sake of something bigger than you are, something you want to fight for - it’s worth a few deals.”

“Pick a hill to die on,” the Empty says, more to itself. “You’ve got to be the most responsible toddler I’ve ever met.”

“Hey!”

“I swear it,” the Empty says, slowly sitting up straight, and Jack feels the floor under him ripple with power. “By my responsibility as guardian of the nothingness. I swear it, on the abyss that is all that remains of the state of existence before existence was brought into creation. I swear it, by the laws of the universe that keep all things in order and the laws of causation that my realm stands for. I swear it, by my pride as one the last remaining remnants of the Darkness in this universe.”

And then it slams the end of its cane on the floor. Jack hears a crackle of thunder, and nearly falls to his knees from the sheer power that suddenly sweeps across the Empty. Briefly, he sees flashes under the floor, but they go out before he can even blink.

He straightens, realizing his knees have buckled slightly. 

“There,” the Empty says. “Does that satisfy you, Jack Kline?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “That was a lot wordier than I thought it was going to be, though.”

“Oh, shut up. Get going, you little shit,” the Empty says. “When you have your plan, return.”

“When I have my plan,” Jack says. “Sam and Dean are going to tell you.”

“Oh?” The Empty sounds intrigued. “Interesting.”

“You can’t say no if the universe wants to survive that badly, right?” Jack asks, “Not when your job is essentially to keep it standing.”

“We’ll see,” it says, digs its cane into the floor, and then splashes him with the water that the floor sometimes is as it swings the end of the cane towards him. Jack doesn’t know how it works since the ground under him is still solid. “Now piss off.”

Jack laughs. “Thanks,” he says, waving a hand, and says goodbye just like he had last time. “See you around, then, old thing.”

“For all our sakes,” the Empty says. “I fucking hope not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPN writers who squander so much character potential cannot hide from my fic writing hands


	19. Chapter 19

“The Empty said _yes?!”_

“It took it a while, but yeah,” Jack says, sounding smug as he eats his breakfast.

Dean sits down across him, in disbelief. Adam slides him and Sam their plates, Sam giving their youngest brother a thankful nod. 

“I can’t believe it. That guy gave Cas shit about being woken up and everything,” Dean says.

“I think it’s temperamental, but ultimately helpful when it counts,” Jack says. “And it just wants to go back to sleep.”

“Can’t blame it there,” Dean says. He starts digging into his food.

“So,” Rowena says, sitting down at the head of the table with her own food. “You’re positive you have the Empty’s cooperation?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “It swore on a lot of things, and I don’t really understand all of it, but the shockwave from it felt powerful, when it finished promising.”

“What did it swear on?”

Jack tries to remember. “Its responsibility as the Empty, the abyss, the laws of the universe that - uh, I think it meant like, the way reality functions?”

“Like the universe being a machine?” Adam asks. 

“Yes. I think it swore by its place in it,” Jack says, “And being the last remnant of the Darkness in this universe.”

Sam and Dean pause. Castiel, sitting beside Jack even though he isn’t eating, shares a knowing look with the brothers.

Rowena hums thoughtfully. “If it goes back on its oath,” she says. “The universe itself will punish it, since it’s invoking the rules of reality. Well done, Jack.”

Jack beams. 

“So we got the angels good to go,” Belphegor says.

“_If _I convince the Empty that we have a good plan to convince the angels to fight on our side,” Jack says.

“Do you?”

“Well,” Jack says. “I thought having the Empty resurrect everyone in the Cage and having Michael try to talk to them there would be good.”

Adam pauses. Then, “Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says, looking down guiltily. “I know, but time doesn’t move right there.”

Adam hesitates.

“There’s gotta be someplace else,” Belphegor asks. “Or a way to get them on our side quickly.”

“We can try the angel tablets,” Sam says. “Have Donatello read them for us.”

“Okay, let’s get on that,” Belphegor says. 

“What about Chuck?” Castiel asks. 

“I thought we should get Chuck into the Cage too,” Jack says. “That way he can’t just grab everyone out.”

“No.” Belphegor is shaking his head. “Absolutely not. Bad idea.”

“Wait,” Adam says.

Belphegor and Sam immediately look concerned. “Adam.”

“The Cage is vast,” he says. “It’s endless. It doesn’t work the way space works here on Earth. You can run for as long as you want in there.”

“Still,” Dean says. “Locking the angels in there to duke it out with Chuck would probably result in more angels siding with Chuck and killing everyone.”

“You know you don’t have to resurrect all the angels,” Rowena says. “Only your allies.”

“We need as much power as we can have on our side,” Jack says.

“What good is that going to do you if you can’t even guarantee your side’s safety due to a mutiny?” Rowena says, disapproving. “If we want to win, then we’re going to have to get as many people as we can who we know won’t stab us in the back and then do our best with it. That’s how all wars go.”

Jack looks down at his food. 

“Would it be enough?” Adam asks. 

“Well,” Castiel says. “It took all four archangels _and _Chuck himself to defeat the Darkness, his sister. I imagine about the same amount of power would take to defeat him, even if he is weak.”

“And we cannot count Michael until we are in the middle of it,” Rowena says.

“Gabriel,” Dean says. “We can resurrect that cheeky fucker.”

“There’s a long list of angels we can resurrect,” Sam says. “You said the Empty can resurrect angels as long as it’s not too much that it would cause problems, right?”

“Right,” Jack says.

“Then we resurrect who we can resurrect,” Rowena says. “The rest of the power we need, we get from Hell.”

“There’s also the problem that we don’t know whose side Amara is going to be,” Castiel says. “That’s why we need as much firepower as we can get.”

“Hey, wait,” Dean says. “The Shedim.”

Belphegor winces. He’s still nursing a headache that hasn’t stopped since he’d assumed control of Hell. “What is it?”

“They’re said to be powerful enough that Chuck had them locked in an unknown pocket in Hell. Could they be enough of a stand in for archangels?”

Belphegor’s face screws up as he thinks, and then slowly, like he’s unravelling the idea, his expression relaxes, eyes lighting up. “Actually,” he says. “They could be close. There’s a lot of them.”

“So we stand _some _semblance of a chance,” Dean says. “It’s not enough but it’s there.”

“Do we know where this Darkness is, though?” Rowena asks.

“Uh no,” Dean says. “Why?”

“Chuck was alone when he showed up in Hell, wasn’t he?” she asks, turning to Belphegor.

“Yeah,” Belphegor says.

“And the Darkness has yet to make her presence known.”

“She’s been quiet for years, actually,” Sam says. “Actually - when we last saw her, she sort of - she fell in love with this universe.”

“And now...her brother wants to destroy it,” Rowena says. “Curious.”

“What are you thinking?” Castiel asks. 

“I’m thinking,” Rowena says. “That someone doesn’t go from zero to a hundred without much explanation.” She steeples her hands together, smiling the way she does whenever she’s thought up something good. “I think we need to retrace a few things, and I think we need to know what the Darkness thinks about all of this.”

* * *

Sam and Dean bring all of the hunters in for briefing, leaving Castiel in charge of the school’s security and Belphegor to direct his new minions to patrol the area around it. Adam and Jack sit in the meeting to vouch for their ends of the plan, and Rowena sits in just in case someone argues a little too long about it. Adam’s glad she’s on their side - he hasn’t been topside long enough to know her well, but he knows enough that she’s been causing his brothers grief for years and is a formidable pain in the ass when she really wants to be, so it’s good that she’s helping them now. 

The meeting goes about as well as they expect it to - which is to say that it doesn’t. The second that it’s mentioned that Jack is a nephilim and Michael is _The _Archangel Michael, because it would be hard to dodge questions about where they’re going to get enough firepower to take down Chuck himself if they lied about it, the room erupts into chaos, people shouting in opposition that they can’t seriously trust these guys to not turn against them.

Jack shrinks a little in his seat at the noise, but Adam puts a hand on his arm reassuringly. 

After a few minutes or so, the others finally let the Winchesters talk again and explain that yes, they know Jack’s a one-in-seven-billion rarity and a lore wildcard, but they’d raised him, and they know him well, his lineage be damned; Michael himself had no need to essentially paint a target on himself to save everyone else in this school, but he did anyway and they owe their lives to him, and why the fuck would he do that if he wasn’t on their side?

They argue for another while, but in the end, they acquise that okay, maybe they are working together toward the same goal. 

The news of Belphegor being a demon doesn’t go down as well, but they’re quicker to stand down since he had been with Michael when they’d retrieved the crook after all, and it’s that crook that’s keeping the entirety of Hell from slaughtering the world right now. That, and the demon isn’t in the room to shoot point blank.

The Winchesters outline what they have so far, after a brief summary of Jack’s past death and experience with the Empty - they talk about gathering as much firepower as they can, finding a place where they can duke it out with Chuck since that’s sure to be explosive, and ganking the guy. They talk about how Jack has struck a deal with the Empty to resurrect angels, and how they have the entirety of Hell on their side. 

Adam steps in to talk about the rifts, the instability of the universe, and how they need to be careful since absorbing Hell would collapse reality itself, and Jack pipes in that they also plan to seal the rifts and stitch back the fabric of existence, and that it would be best if they can fix the structural integrity of the universe along the way so they don’t have any other problems in the future.

There’s a bit of back and forth on that topic. The both of them have to give everyone a rundown on the whole composition of the universe thing (and they’ve been having this conversation over and over with so many people even Adam is getting tired of it), but at least everyone understands the gravity of the situation afterwards. They need to stabilize the universe, in addition to defeating Chuck. If they don’t, they’re all as good as dead anyway. 

“Which is why, if we need to,” Adam says. “We might be able to talk monsters, or covens, into helping.”

“Enemy of an enemy?” someone asks with a tired, world-weary scoff. These poor fucking people. 

“Sorta,” Adam says. “It’s more like they _have _to help, if they wanna keep existing.”

“If you’re planning to fight Chuck - the Big Man himself - whomever the fuck,” someone - Les or Leslie, Adam thinks? He vaguely remembers from the fight outside - says, “You know you’re going to have to lure him in. How the fuck’re you gonna manage that?”

Dean thinks for a moment, going over their options. “If he’s hunting down Michael, we can grab the guy. Apparently Belphegor knows a way,” he says. “If we get Jack to close the rifts, he might be pissed enough about him interfering that he might show up. That’s another possibility. Another option - which, if we can pull off might be the best…” He hesitates. Then, “We can get his sister to find him for us.”

Leslie blinks. “I wasn’t briefed on this. He has a _sister?”_

Dean nods. 

Sam looks like he’s just had a revelation in the midst of Dean explaining things. Adam leans forward slightly to look at him. 

“Apparently, in the beginning, there was the darkness and the light.” Dean waves a hand. “Well, she’s the darkness.”

“Well, fuck me,” Leslie breathes out, incredibly tired, and leans back into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And we already need to know what she thinks about this anyway,” Rowena says. “She loves this world.”

“She’s an ally?” someone else asks.

“She could be,” Rowena says. “Chuck was alone when he went to interfere with Michael and Belphegor. He was also alone when he killed Jack. Which begs the question that if he and his sister were catching up a few years back, what happened that he’s now okay with destroying something she likes, and where is she now?”

“Okay, well,” another hunter says. “How do we find her?”

“Dean,” Sam says.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“No, no,” Sam says, turning his chair so he can face his brother better. “No, we can find her through _you. _You have a connection to her.”

“Come again?” Rowena leans forward as well to look at Sam.

“This I also did not know,” the same hunter who’d spoken earlier says, raising an eyebrow. 

Dean lets out a small, nervous laugh that ends with a frown. “How do we know that’s still around?”

Sam does that thing where he looks up rapidly, tries to smile through his annoyance before settling on pressing his lips to a thin line. “Are you really going to say no when the world is ending?”

“She’s a little weird!”

“She might be on our side!”

“Oh my,” Rowena mutters. She holds a hand out to Adam, who slips a juice packet out of his jacket to toss to her waiting hand. She rips the edge open. “This is fun.”

Sam and Dean bicker for about two minutes while the rest of the room waits for them to be done. 

“Look, the point _is - “ _Sam points an accusing finger at his brother. “She loves this world. And she _admitted _that the reason why she was so angry was because of selfish reasons. Amara is reasonable. Amara has a good head on her shoulders. Amara might _listen_.”

“Motherfucker really gonna say her name _thrice,” _Adam hears Leslie mutter, to which the other hunters around him shake their heads in disapproval. Adam snickers, Jack following. 

“Or, she’s on his side,” Dean says. “We don’t know.”

“All I’m hearing is we have to talk to her,” Rowena says. “If she’s reasonable, she might help. If she doesn’t, well.” She shrugs. “We’re all dead either way, aren’t we, boys?”

Both Winchesters quiet down.

“You can pray to her, Dean?” Jack asks.

“I can try to,” Dean says, eventually, but not without a sigh. “I can try to pray to her. I don’t know, schedule a meeting or something.”

“Good,” Rowena says. “In the meantime, let’s get back to the real world, shall we? Find out how everything’s been faring with all this business.”

“I’ll get on it,” Sam says. He nods to two other hunters across the table. “Anita, Bryan. We’ll be on research.” 

They nod back.

“We still have to decide which angels to resurrect,” Dean says.

“We can decide that with Sam,” Adam says, pointing to himself, Jack and Rowena.

Dean nods as well, and then, lets out another small sigh. “Alright,” he says. “We’re gonna need the rest of you to contact every hunter in your networks. We need people to spread the news about the rifts. Make sure nobody goes diving into the damn things.’

He stands, already assigning who contacts who. Adam leans back in his seat.

In the corner of his eye, he notices Sam wincing, putting one hand to his head as he screws his eyes shut. After a minute, he opens his eyes, his hand moving to his shoulder. He’d been shot, Adam remembers.

With that stupid fucking equalizer gun or something. 

Adam frowns. Right. They’ve still got to take care of that too. 


	20. Chapter 20

It’s hard to take away the bodies of the casualties from the ghost attack and cover up the windows of the school so nobody can see the ghosts still standing frozen outside, so after a long while of dodging questions from concerned citizens and a couple of people already preparing to rebel against Sam and Dean’s rules if they weren’t going to give them straight answers for yet another day, they let all the civilians pile into the gym again to tell them the truth. 

It’s like the world’s weirdest assembly, with Sam trying to explain the supernatural and the end of the world, frequently interrupted by a chorus of questions and shouts of outrage. 

The kids take to it easily, at least, due to them already waiting for something batshit to happen in their lifetimes, one way or another. The adults, unfortunately, are a whole hornet nest to wrangle with, as some of them go as far as attempting to leave the school entirely the second the reality of their situation sinks in. Thankfully, there’s an equal amount of adults willing to hear Sam out, helping to get the others to sit down and listen. 

It takes a few hours, and there’s a lot of crying from the crowd by the end of it - this is their first time being smack dab in the middle of an honest to goodness apocalypse, after all - but the elephant in the room has been addressed. Everything clicks in the crowd’s collective head, as to why they had to be evacuated, why they had to be in the gym, and what the gunshots were all about. 

Adam overhears some of the younger teens talking about seeing people taking bodies away, understanding dawning on them that some of the hunters had died trying to protect them. One of them, already crying, buries their face in their hands.

These poor fucking kids. 

They let everyone rest, after, but emphasize that they are to stay in the school in the meantime. The apocalypse is still going on, and just because they know about it doesn’t mean they can be lax about precautions. The only change that happens is that the crowd knows what hunters are, who the hunters in the room are, and that there’s a few members of the team who aren’t exactly human. 

Which means Adam, Jack and Belphegor (and Rowena, but she’s more feral about it than scared) have to tiptoe around the more skittish civilians, but hopefully they’re going to get through this with a minimal amount of interaction with anyone who isn’t a hunter. 

“At least that’s finally out of the way,” Adam says, after they’ve finally cleaned up the gym and he, Jack and Belphegor have found time to get to the rooftop and just sit and breathe. “See, I  _ told  _ them more civilians were gonna start organizing rebel factions the longer it took them to admit shit.”

“They can organize rebel factions and be correctly informed this time,” Belphegor, laying down on his back, jokes. 

“At that point, we’ve done all we can, haven’t we?” Adam says. “That’d just be stupidity talking.”

“A lot of them are reasonable,” Jack says, leaning over the edge of the roof to look down at the school grounds. There’s a lot of volunteers there, helping clean up the mess of bullets and torn clothes and limbs and blood, along with some hunters. The ghosts have been made to move back and away from the school, courtesy of Belphegor. “I think they can keep each other in check.”

“I hope so, we don’t have enough hunters to watch everybody,” Adam says. “Hey, Bel, can you get ghosts to watch people?”

Belphegor draws out a groan as he rolls over. “My headache still hasn’t gone away,” he says. He doesn’t need to sleep but he looks like he could use a nap, just to get a short break. “And I...probably can, but like, I’m already trying to wrangle everything I can feel into something manageable. They’re all so loud.”

“You can feel all of Hell, right?”

“And I wish I didn’t.”

Jack and Adam laugh, good-naturedly, although Jack reaches out and gives his doppelganger a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. Belphegor cracks a smile. 

They all finally climb down when it starts to get dark, not keen on getting into accidents due to being unable to see properly in the dimness of the evening. They head for the cafeteria for dinner - people have started volunteering to shoulder the work for the kitchen too, so their usual volunteers can now take breaks, which is nice; hopefully they’ll find a way around the huge deficit of salt in the cupboards - and come to a stop at the main hall, when they see a colorful arrangement of post-its, photos, flowers and candles propped by a wall. 

A closer look shows them that there’s a few scribbles in paint here and there, a few splatters of melted crayon and scraps of paper taped or stapled into the wall. There’s photos too, very few, and a lot of them grainy and old and folded, but they’re at the very top, clearly given up by the hunters who’d had pictures of their fallen friends. 

“A memorial,” Jack says.

Adam stares down at the flowers and candles on the floor. A little higher, and he reads the post-its that read little  _ thank you _ s and wishes for well resting. 

“You do this for funerals, right?” Belphegor asks.

“To pay respect, yeah,” Adam says. “Obviously, we can’t have a grave for them. Hunters burn their dead.”

Belphegor nods. “Guess some of them really are a reasonable bunch, then.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. He laughs lightly, his eyes tearing up a little. “Yeah, they’re a reasonable bunch. Thankfully.”

All three of them stare at the memorial for a while, silent.

“We’re not gonna write Michael’s name here,” Jack says, after a few minutes. “We’re not.”

“No,” Adam says. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“Of course he is,” Belphegor says. “He’s a stubborn son of a bitch, he’s probably already thought of something in case our dumb asses drop the ball.”

Adam laughs. After one more moment of silence to pay their respects to the dead, all three of them head for the cafeteria. 

* * *

The next few days are a flurry of activity.

With one problem down, the hunters set up a mini call center in one of the empty classrooms for the team assigned to contact other hunters. These contacted hunters are then informed to contact other people already not on the current list, and then those people are to call their own contacts - it’s essentially a speedrun in networking, and all the information is sent to Dean, who keeps tabs on the fast-growing web of allies. Ketch, the little rat, has also volunteered to expand the network to his contacts in the U.K., which is nice of him. It’ll widen their net of influence significantly.

The subject being passed around is simple: the world is ending due to universal instability, and it’s backed by the big man this time.

It goes down the hatch easily once the whole ‘tears in the universe’ thing is brought up. Everyone’s cooperative, even if there’s grumbling and wincing at hearing that it’s yet another Winchester-kickstarted apocalypse, at least technically.

It’s the probably the fact that the world is ending, on a global scale this time, not just something isolated to whatever hellhole part of the U.S. a gate of some sorts has been opened.

Adam reminds them to keep everyone updated on their other objectives: keep tabs on supernatural activity in their area, look for rifts and make sure the area is secured, and keep an eye out for a lady with long dark hair and old, old eyes. 

“That description is bullshit,” Belphegor tells them as soon as he finds out.

“Yeah, you got anything better?” Dean asks.

“Uh, an artist sketch?”

Dean blinks. “Yeah, you know what - “

They’re lucky enough to find some artists with the civilians in the school, so after a few hours, a sketch is sent in mass emails to their budding hunter network. 

The meeting room is commandeered into a research center for Sam’s team of hunters, which Adam and Jack have volunteered for. They look into news, trawl through social media posts and forums, and collect every scrap of info they can on rift location and activity. There’s a lot, and it’s very clear that the world is just starting to realize that the ‘freak earthquakes’ weren’t just in isolated parts of the globe, but moved in uncanny succession, running through the very earth like an apocalyptic shiver. 

The one advantage of the modern culture of broadcasting everything that happens in one’s backyard is that Adam finds a shitton of information in trending tags almost every hour. Which is good for when he’s info-hunting, but bad for when they want to keep people  _ away  _ from the rifts. Even if Belphegor’s got Hell under control, it’s going to cause a major uproar in scientific communities and frankly just fuck with people’s brains if they find out what’s in those rifts.

Which is thankfully where Rowena comes in. It takes her a bit longer to convince the other practitioners in her contact list to believe her, but the whole ‘end of the world’ thing seems to have convinced them to side with her, at least for now. Between them and a lot of biking and gas spent, they’ve taken it upon themselves to drop a few compulsion hexes everywhere they can reach, so that should anyone with no knowledge of the situation find any rift, they are to call in to a number they normally wouldn’t know, and then forget, and never have the urge to visit the rift ever again (or at least until the whole thing blows over).

Heaven’s still out of the cards in terms of contact, so Castiel has been overseeing the school’s security while everyone works. Belphegor sits with him, when he’s lucid and not trying to rest his now ever-present headache away. Other times, he’s just curled up in a cot beside the angel, frowning in his sleep. 

And every day since they’ve started their set up, on their off time, Dean tries to pray to Amara. He’s been doing that for three days now. She hasn’t responded yet. The others, meanwhile, attempt to discuss which angels to resurrect and if Jack’s idea to have everyone duke it out in the Cage is still viable.

After about an hour, they return to their work again, growing the network and hoping to fuck the world doesn’t realize exactly what’s happening. People love the idea of an apocalypse when it’s an intangible thing, after all, because they know one day, it’s inevitable. They usually just happen to realize the reality of it sucks when it’s finally right there in their faces.

But hey, that’s what Team Free Will 4.0 (Bastard Expansion Pack) is here for.

* * *

“You look like death warmed over,” Dean says, watching Belphegor stumble into the cafeteria. He’s got a blanket around his shoulders, his hair is sticking up everywhere, and he’s found a new pair of glasses (probably got a ghost to steal it for him) which he’s just shoved unceremoniously on his nose. 

“I  _ feel _ like death warmed over,” he says, taking a seat on the far end of the table. He doesn’t have a plate. He just rests his forehead on the cool surface of the table and sighs. 

“It’s getting that bad?” Adam asks. 

Belphegor only grunts. 

“Fuck,” Adam says. “He didn’t even bother with a one-liner.”

“Fuck you, Milligan.”

“I imagine the toll of having an entire realm does that to you,” Rowena says, a bit of a pep in her step as she takes a seat, having just gotten a few more practitioners on the team. “And he’s just a regular demon.”

Castiel winces in sympathy.

“Has the sleep not been helping?” Jack asks. 

“It kinda has,” Belphegor says. “Less - “ He waves a hand haphazardly, and then motions to the rest of the cafeteria. “Everything.”

Politely, none of them tell him it makes no sense.

Jack, sitting next to him, takes pity and puts a hand on one of his temples, fingers glowing a soft blue that can barely be seen in the sunlight coming through the cafeteria’s glass walls. Belphegor lets out a sigh that sounds like he’s about to cry from sheer relief. 

“I will never give you shit again, Kline,” he says. “Ever.  _ Ever.” _

Jack snorts. “You wouldn’t be you if you did that, but sure.”

“That’s not gonna ping Chuck or anything?” Sam asks. 

“It’s just small stuff,” Jack says. “Although, you know.”

Adam sighs. “Yeah, it’d be helpful if we knew how much the guy was aware of.”

“Best to just take every precaution anyway,” Rowena says. “Although he has been rather silent, considering everything we’ve been doing.”

“Maybe Michael’s giving him something to chew on,” Jack says.

“I hope so,” Sam says. “We could use a distraction to get the attention away from us.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d appreciate it if he knew we were trying to get his sister on our side,” Dean says, spearing through a slice of bacon with more force than necessary.

Adam gets a thoughtful look on his face but says nothing.

“How’s that going, by the way?” Castiel asks. “Trying to contact Amara.”

“Still nothing,” Dean says. “Not even a dream visitation.”

“Does she have a phone number?” Rowena asks.

“Well, she wasn’t exactly tech-savvy, last time we met her.”

“...a twitter?”

Adam takes out his phone. “On it.”’

“It’s worth risking pissing Chuck off if we solve this,” Sam says. “Chuck’s already pissed.”

“And I can’t imagine that she’d let him just end everything if she did, as you say, come to love the world,” Rowena says. “And given that it’s been years and it’s still standing, granted a little battered from her brother, I’ll wager that stance hasn’t changed.”

“So say Amara doesn’t want to destroy the world,” Dean says. “What then?”

“Sic her on Chuck,” Belphegor mutters, still not lifting his head up from where he’s resting it on the table. The tenseness to his shoulders have gone. Jack’s still soothing his headache. 

“Ideally, we can do that with both of them in the Cage,” Sam says. “Because as much as we hate to admit it, it’s going to be explosive.”

“If Chuck is...gone, we don’t even have to worry about which angels to resurrect,” Castiel says. “After the apocalypse, of course.”

“They won’t have someone to blindly follow anymore,” Jack says.

“If they don’t start another rebellion,” Adam says. “They seem like the kind of people to, just because they’re gonna get pissed that Chuck’s dead.”

“At that point, Michael can probably keep them in line,” Rowena says. “As long as the head of the snake is cut.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too hopeful yet, we still need Amara to actually show up,” Dean says. “We can’t keep making these plans without anything concrete.”

A thoughtful silence falls over the table.

Belphegor sits up suddenly. “Oh!”

“What?” Dean asks.

“I forgot to tell you - my head was too loud - not all of Hell is zombified right now.”

Sam chokes on his food. Adam freezes. Rowena raises an eyebrow.

“What the  _ hell, _ ” Dean says. “Lead with that, the next time you sit at the table - “

“They can’t do anything,” Belphegor says. Jack lowers his hand, as the demon appears to be doing much better. “But they’re conscious. A lot of them are. Didn’t I say I could feel them?”

“I thought you just meant their souls or some shit!”

“Oh, no, I can hear them,” Belphegor says. “It’s like, thousands of voices all at once, and I fucking hate it. Anyway - “

Sam is still coughing, frantically trying to grab something with water. Jack looks around, trying to see if there’s anything within reach and he spots someone at a nearby table stand and heft up a bottle of water. The man tosses it to him with the throwing arm of a quarterback. He catches it and tosses it to Sam, who immediately gets it open to drink.

“Thanks!” Jack calls out to the man, who just gives him a thumbs up and sits back down.

“I’ve been trying to listen to them, talk to them, sort of, when I could, and I just thought,” he says. “We could let the Shedim look for Amara.”

“The Shedim?” Rowena asks. 

“Yeah,” Belphegor says. “They’re the ones with the most awareness right now. Yeah, sure, they can’t attack innocent people, but they’re not immobile. I can feel them just wandering around, checking earth out. They just can’t hurt people.”

“So they’re compelled and otherwise unaffected,” Rowena says.

“Yep,” Belphegor says. “Hell on my state of mind, though. No pun intended.”

“There’s not a lot I know about them other than that they’re incredibly powerful,” Castiel says. “There’s not a lot Heaven knows about them, really. They might be able to pull it off, but be careful.”

“I can ask them,” Belphegor says. “I can probably make them tell me if we had questions anyway, but - maybe they can manage something and find Amara for us.”

“Worth a shot,” Sam says. “What have we got to lose at this point?”

Rowena snorts. “We’ve only got things to lose, at this point.”

“The better to be reckless with a few things, because it’s already a losing game,” Sam says, laughing. “Ask them, then.”

Belphegor nods. “I’ll get on it,” he says. “And then sleep, because I can feel another headache again.”

“It comes back that fast, huh?” Jack asks.

Belphegor traces a finger from one of his eyes to his chin, mimicking a tear track. Jack laughs.

“But we’re getting somewhere,” Castiel says. “It’s still all plans, but we’re getting somewhere.”

“Hopefully we can finally get moving,” Dean says. “I never want to deal with Chuck’s ugly mug again.”

Sam laughs. “I feel like we all do, Dean,” he says. “We definitely all do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates might slow down a little because my brain has decided to give attention to my other fics and original writing projects, but I am still working on this. 
> 
> tumblr: inkteacup.tumblr.com


	21. Chapter 21

Jack often prides himself in the fact that he can stay calm and collected and generally optimistic under most circumstances (although a part of him is aware that it might just be childish naivety - he _is _technically a toddler after all), but at the moment, he is two seconds away from punting Belphegor through a wall. 

The demon, already cocooned in a fort of pillows, waves a hand through the fort’s tiny space that acts as a window. “I need more blankets.”

“I’ll get one to choke you with them,” Adam says.

Belphegor withdraws his hand to stick his head (partially) out, “Do you want me to talk to some funky demons or not?”

“You don’t need - “ In frustration, Adam kicks the side of the fort. It doesn’t topple, what with the amount of pillows it’s been built with. Some just get knocked out of place.

Jack considers praying to some higher authority, but the last one he’d met had killed him, so he just sits down and frowns at Belphegor. 

Belphegor pulls his head back in, sniffs and raises his chin - nearly breaking into a laughing fit but managing to keep himself from doing so - and crosses his arms in a display of childishness. “I’ve done everything for this team and _this _is how you repay me?”

“You’ve been insufferable to this team along the way, that’s why,” Adam says. “Just talk to the damn demons.”

“But I need to be in a good state of mind to do so,” Belphegor says, “I’ve had a killer headache for the past few days and it hasn’t stopped.”

“Usually when you’re being a jackass, it’s a sign you’re okay,” Jack mutters. He remembers he has his bingo card with him, tucked into one of the pockets of his jacket, and he starts rifling through them to try to figure out which one.

“You’ve got such a potty mouth these days, Kline,” Belphegor says, pretending to look hurt.

“Who do you think he learned that from?” Adam asks.

“You’re proud of being a bad influence, Milligan?”

Adam starts grabbing pillows away from the fort, and Belphegor immediately swats his hands away with a “_Heyheyheyheyheyheyhey hey! _Hands _off!”_

Jack finds his bingo card, folded neatly into his chest pocket. He takes it out, looks for the box that says _Belphegor Makes Things Difficult By Being A Dick _and crosses it off with the pen he’s kept with him.

Adam and Belphegor have stopped bickering as they notice him putting the card and the pen away, catching on as to what prompted him to mark off a box.

“Oh, you little _brat.” _Belphegor says.

“Should I not have taken the opportunity?” Jack asks.

“You absolutely should have,” Adam says. Belphegor grabs a fallen pillow and hits him with it. Adam falls on his side laughing.

“I feel betrayed,” Belphegor says. “To think - after everything we’ve been through - “

“Just talk to the demons,” Jack says, flatly, although there’s a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. Belphegor huffs, rolling his eyes, but he ends up cracking a grin before he settles in his pillow fort and closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“You don’t really need to breathe,” Adam says.

“It helps,” Belphegor mutters, flipping him off blindly. 

After a few minutes of silence, the demon starts to frown. Jack can see his hands shaking a little. For all that they joke, it really does take a lot out of him, keeping the entirety of Hell at bay and still staying sane through it all. And knowing Belphegor, he probably made them build the blanket fort so that if there’s any sudden burst in power from him - if something goes wrong - the pillows would take the brunt of it and give Adam and Jack enough time to do something or get away.

He’s got a funny way of thinking, working through situations in a roundabout way. Jack’s still trying to catch up with his thought processes but he thinks he’s doing good on being able to read his self-appointed doppelganger.

Blessedly, nothing happens even when Belphegor’s clearly straining his concentration. Adam and Jack continue to watch him, staying on alert, just in case.

Finally, after about an hour or so of tense silence, Belphegor opens his eyes, bright but weary. He takes two seconds too long to get them open, and even longer for him to even focus on who’s in front of him.

“Bel?” Jack asks.

“They want a favor,” Belphegor says. 

Adam tenses. 

“What kind are we talking about?”

Belphegor pauses, although if it’s because of hesitation or exhaustion, Jack can’t tell. After a pause, he says, “The freedom sort.”

Adam and Jack share a quick, panicked look.

“They’re tired of being locked up in Hell,” Belphegor says. “The Shedim want their freedom.”

* * *

They end up telling the Winchesters what the Shedim want and having another meeting as to what to do. It’s a lot more tense than their usual conversations about the apocalypse, which is understandable since everyone’s already busy as it is - Sam’s considering letting everyone back in town since Hell’s already under control and if visitors from other towns notice that the area’s been shut off for longer than usual, heads will start turning; Dean has to answer question after question from the new members of their network over the phone; and Rowena is trying not to blow a gasket over some covens (understandably) having a hard time trusting her words while she’s trying to recruit them for the cause.

After several hours of arguing back and forth, it’s Rowena who puts her foot down on the matter. Risky or not, it’s the end of the world. If it’s their only shot, they have to take it, and then deal with the demons after. She even draws up a whole contract for the deal, making Adam and Jack carry a half-asleep Belphegor into the room so she can discuss the terms with him, and by extension, the demons.

Jack, while they’re talking, crosses off _Demon Deal _on his bingo card. When he pockets his card, Adam is looking at him. 

“Demon deal?” Adam says, guessing as he hadn’t seen the card itself.

“Yeah,” Jack says.

Adam winces, but nods. “Me too. I’m crossing it off later.”

“Oh,” Jack says, turning back to the table, where Belphegor is patiently waiting for the demons in his head (hah - was he a matryoshka, then, demons within a demon?) to answer. “We just have expectations for them, huh.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

It takes another hour for Rowena and Belphegor to negotiate something, and then another half hour while they finalize the details with Sam, Dean and Cas, with Rowena letting Sam give the wording several read-throughs, considering he was pre-law. Once they have something they’re satisfied with, Belphegor is woken up from yet another nap so they can relay the information to the Shedim. 

Essentially, the contract is that they are to assist the following parties: DEAN WINCHESTER, SAMUEL WILLIAM WINCHESTER, ROWENA MACLEOD, JACK KLINE, ADAM MILLIGAN, CASTIEL and BELPHEGOR (with Cas’ and Belphegor’s names written in Enochian so the Shedim couldn’t lawyer their way out of the contract) in dealing with threat(s) to the continued existence of the known universe. In exchange, they are allowed to roam free in the Earth and are no longer bound to their ranks or obligation of service to Hell, provided they do not breach their contract. 

Everyone signs it in blood (which Belphegor is glad for because he’s not keen on kissing anyone), and Belphegor signs on behalf of the Shedim. 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, boys,” Rowena says, rolling up the parchment she’d written the contract on. “Besides, they seem to just hate Hell.”

“All of them do,” Dean says. “It’s always the reason why they’re topside and possessing people.”

“Let’s take advantage of it then,” she says, and then turns to Belphegor. “Tell them to get to work.”

Belphegor gives her a thumbs up and closes his eyes in concentration. After a moment, he opens them again, the rigid set to his shoulders sagging as he seems to give up on holding himself together. 

“Yeah, they’re on it,” he says, and then promptly passes the fuck out. 

Adam and Jack dive to catch him before he lists off the chair and hits the floor. 

“Infirmary,” Sam says, wrenching the door open before he’s even finished speaking.

None of them really know how to care for a sick demon, but Adam and Jack carry him to the infirmary anyway, one taking his torso and the other his legs. 

Their volunteer doctors try to take his body’s vitals, even when Dean tells them it’s not necessary, and according to them, he’s showing signs of physical exhaustion. Apart from that, they’re not sure what to do, with him being a demon and all.

“I got this,” Jack says, taking a seat beside his bed. “I can heal him, a little. It’s not going to last, but I can give him some relief.”

“Someone’s probably got to check how Hell’s doing, though,” Adam says, worriedly.

Thankfully, the ghosts are still stationary outside, so that’s one thing going right. They let Belphegor stay the infirmary, asleep, while Jack spends the rest of the day trying to ease his headache and his sleep. Everyone else, meanwhile, goes back to work.

Unsurprisingly, word about the resident demon being under the weather spreads around fast, and although most of the civilians immediately wonder out loud how the fuck that even happens, some of them are kind enough to send their well-wishes. Come the afternoon, there’s already a bunch of handwritten notes from some of the younger kids, filled with misspelled _GET WELL SOON_s scrawled in crayon and pencil. There’s a few sodas from what Jack learns from a nurse is a vending machine some of the teenagers broke open.

At around nine in the evening, some of the kitchen volunteers stop by to bring Jack a platter of cookies while he tends to Belphegor.

“It’s the least we could do,” one of them, a girl who must be around 17 or 18, says, a little anxiously.

“Thanks,” Jack says.

“Any preferences? In terms of snacks, I mean,” another says. A boy, taller than his companion.

“Uh, I haven’t had nougat in a while. Would be nice to have a bar,” Jack says. “And I do owe him sparkling water from a bet we had.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “He really is a demon, huh.”

Jack laughs.

“I’ll get that nougat,” the first one says, ducking out the room. She leaves the door slightly ajar from her anxious hurrying, obviously a little shy around strangers, even if they’ve saved her life. After a few seconds, Jack sees someone peeking in. 

Ah. Of course they’d have curious people trying to see how a demon even looks like sick. 

“What’s wrong with him?” the boy still with him asks. 

“He can hear all of Hell,” Jack says. “And feel it. It’s basically like having a lot of minds shoved into your own head, or at least that’s how I think it feels like.”

“Oh,” the boy says. “Why?”

“Side effect from when he took control of Hell,” Jack says.

“So it’s true, then,” the boy says. “That’s why all the ghosts outside are just - “ He waves a hand. “Like that.”

“Yeah.”

On the bed, Belphegor is breathing evenly, expression peaceful as Jack has a hand to one of his temples, steadily providing him with relief in his sleep.

“Is he gonna be alright?”

Jack pauses. “I don’t know, this has never happened before.”

There’s a small scuffle by the door as the first kitchen volunteer returns. Jack and the boy turn to it, watching her trying to get past a group of kids who have now pushed the door halfway open so they can listen in on the conversation.

“What are you all doing here? You should be in bed!” she says, voice quiet, but stern. The kids only groan in response, one telling her so should she, since her shift is over, but they don’t leave. The girl snorts, pushing past the group, and tosses a bar of chocolate at Jack with a, “Here.”

Jack catches it with his free hand.

For some reason, a memory pops into his head. One of him spending time with a bunch of other teenagers who’d broken into Sam and Dean’s stuff, and trying to befriend them by showing off. 

He blinks it away once he remembers how that had ended. 

“Thanks,” he says. 

She sets a can of sparkling water by Belphegor’s bedside. “And for the demon.”

“That shit tastes like tv static,” the boy says. 

“That’s why it’s not a drink for humans, genius,” she says, moving back to her place beside her friend. “Probably tastes just like cola to - uh...what was his name again?”

“Belphegor,” Jack says.

“Shit,” the girl mutters under her breath. “I keep - he looks really human. Sometimes my brain doesn’t connect that with _demon.” _

“Doesn’t it make sense, though? They’d blend in better with us looking human,” her friend says.

“Yeah, but he’s…” She pauses. “Have you seen him in the cafeteria?”

“A little shit?” Jack offers.

The girl laughs. “Ordinary. If you took any teenager in here and lined them up side by side with him, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

Jack glances down at his friend. He does act a lot more human than expected, and not just because he’s a weaker demon. 

“Don’t tell him I said this, because he likes to think he’s not transparent at times,” Jack says. “But I think he likes being human-ordinary.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “He came up here because he hates hell.”

“That can happen?” the boy asks.

“It happens a lot, apparently,” Jack says.

“Huh,” the boy says. “Funny that.”

“Hey - “

They all turn to the door again as a little voice pipes up, although its owner is immediately elbowed and shushed by several of his friends. At seeing Jack turn though, all of them stop, looking at him wide-eyed, with something akin to awe.

“Hey,” the kid who’d spoken tries again. “If he’s a demon, how come he looks like you?”

“Is it true you’re half angel?” someone else asks. “S’what my momma told me.”

“I...am,” Jack says. He mentally sends a thank you to the kid’s mom for explaining his genetics like that. It certainly sounds a little softer than Spawn of Satan. “And it’s a long story,” he says, motioning to Belphegor. 

“Can you tell us?’ the first kid asks.

“We got all night,” the second one says, “We don’t really do much here anyway, we can just sleep all day.”

Jack considers it. He remembers that group of teenagers back then, guilt and shame and horror washing over him for a moment. 

But - 

But there’s no harm in telling a few stories, right? As long as he’s careful. 

“Okay,” he says, motioning for them to come in. He smiles when all their little eyes light up, and they all start to pile in. “But we’ll need to be quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These bastards keep accidentally putting themselves semi out of commission, smh
> 
> writeblr: inkteacup.tumblr.com


	22. Chapter 22

Despite their best efforts to make sure that the apocalypse is under wraps, it’s inevitable that their numbers wouldn’t be enough to keep track of everything. Even with Ketch’s contacts, it’s a far cry from the level they ideally want to be performing at. Hell being at their disposal would have been useful, but with Belphegor out for the count, it’s currently not an option.

Thus, they’re left with attempting to do damage control from afar and keeping watch in shifts so someone’s always monitoring social media trends and trawling the sewers of the internet in case some poor rando’s stumbled over something. Thankfully, they’ve got enough bored civilians who’ve volunteered to help with internet watch.

By a stroke of luck (or just their demon’s extreme stubbornness even when semi-comatose), Hell still remains pacified and under control, so Sam gives the go for the civilians to be able to visit their homes again, provided they check in at certain hours. Every civilian is assigned a number, and certain numbers are to call in at certain hours, just to make sure Chuck hasn’t snatched anyone off the street. Volunteers for the kitchen and their little call center are still to show up in the school, just for the safety of the information they’re gathering. School, obviously, is still out, but with the apocalypse looming, no one’s really keen on it anyway. 

Sam gives them one rule for their return to the city: look after each other.

It’s still the first day, but there’s a hopeful air around the school as everyone starts moving out, packing what few belongings they’d taken with them to the school. People are cleaning up as they go, the gym slowly emptying as its residents leave one by one. 

It’s like the whole debacle is over, almost, but everyone knows better than to fall for the illusion. They’re still in the thick of it, and it’s going to take everyone’s help to put an end to it. 

It’s this understanding that finds Jack waking up to a blanket draped over him, a covered plate of food and a glass of orange juice placed on the desk beside Belphegor’s desk. He’d fallen asleep, sometime in the early dawn after the other kids had retired to their rooms, exhausted from hours of swapping stories. His hand is still on Belphegor’s pillow, although he’s no longer touching his temple. His friend is still asleep, thankfully, slowly recovering his strength. 

Jack sits up, rolling his shoulders back and wincing at the burn in his muscles when he does so. His neck hurts, and his arm - which had been outstretched the whole night - feels sore. 

But someone’s been kind enough to leave him some food. That’s nice. 

He makes quick work of his breakfast before checking up on Belphegor again, placing a hand on his forehead to see if his exhaustion has escalated to a fever. It hasn’t, and Jack leaves him with one last pulse of Grace before taking his tray and making his way to the kitchen. The halls are busy, so he has to carefully weave his way around people, muttering, “Excuse me,” the whole time, until he reaches the kitchen. 

“Kline,” one of the cooks says as he steps inside. Jack doesn’t recognize her, but she clearly does. Maybe she’d remembered him from the post-ghost-attack assembly. “How’s the demon?”

“Still out cold,” he says. “But he’s not getting worse.”

“That’s good to hear,” she says. Jack smiles a little. Leave it to people to worry about a demon, of all people. “Do you need seconds?”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m good,” he says. 

She motions to the sink. “Drop those off there, then.”

“Thanks,” he says, and moves to do so.

It’s nice to not have his existence be a secret, he thinks suddenly. It feels a lot like being in apocalypse world again, having friends and people who treated you like an actual person. 

He barely catches himself from spacing out and nods in thanks again as he leaves the room. He’s got to check up on Belphegor yet again, just to make sure his headaches haven’t returned, since they always seemed to come back to him quickly. 

Bel’s still deeply asleep when Jack peeks in, though, so gives himself a few minutes to wander around. He’ll come back in an hour or so to check back in, but he needs to stretch his legs. 

They’re still waiting for any news on the Amara front, so for now, he’s got nothing much to do but wait. If the Shedim find Amara and they can convince her to be on their side, then they’re going to have to tackle their next problem of where the hell they’re going to stage their smackdown with Chuck - if they can even coordinate it and it’s not just going to happen spontaneously, because you never really know with these things - but until then, it’s just nervous waiting. 

He wonders where Michael is right now, if he’s okay. He’s got to be, he’s not the Prince of the Heavenly Hosts for nothing, but Jack can’t help it. He’s still a friend, after all. 

There’s a lot less people in the school gardens, so he makes his way there, basking in the cool morning air. It’s early enough that there’s still dew on the grass, and it’s still a little foggy. He takes a seat on the ground and takes a deep breath, before deciding that’s not enough and just lies down, arms outstretched. 

It feels nice. This feels nice. The world is ending, but this feels relaxing. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Giving into my frog brain’s urge to just lie down and stare at the sky,” Jack says. “Hey, Adam.”

“Hey,” Adam says, taking a seat beside him. “You had any breakfast yet?”

“I did,” he says.

“Good.” Adam nods. “How’s Bel?”

“Still asleep.”

“Even without your help?”

“Yeah.”

“Good for him, then,” he says. “Although we probably won’t get any updates on the Shedim.”

“Maybe he’ll wake up soon,” Jack says. 

Adam’s quiet. 

“Something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

Jack’s learned in the past few years to never ignore bad feelings. He frowns slightly, concerned. “About what?”

“Belphegor passing out,” he says. “Like, yeah, duh, I know that’s not good, but something still feels off.”

Jack hums. Above them, a crow flies by. 

“You wanna go on a walk around town?” Adam asks. “Everyone’s finally allowed to go back, since Hell’s under control now.”

“Oh, that’s why everyone’s busy,” Jack says. “Are we allowed to go out?”

“We don’t have anything else to do,” Adam says. “Well, I still have to help Dean, but it’s still early in the morning. We could use a change in scenery.”

Jack thinks it over for a moment, but Adam’s got a point - as he always does - and now that his friend points it out, it was getting a little stuffy being in the school all the time. He nods, sitting up. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” he says.

Adam’s still in his makeshift pajamas, and Jack’s still in the same clothes he was in yesterday, but they climb over the school fence and make their way into town. 

It’s quiet. 

Not the town, as it’s bustling with people finally making their way back to their houses, but neither of them are saying anything. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s just...quiet. 

Jack realizes then that neither he nor Adam really start the conversation in their friend group. 

“It was always those two, huh,” Adam says, catching onto the same thing Jack’s thinking. “If Michael’s not telling us what _not _to do, Belphegor’s spouting nonsense.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Kinda quiet not having people to react to.”

Adam nods. A weary look passes on his face. He shooes it off silently, even though Jack knows it’s taking a lot out of him to do so. It’s too early in the morning for either of them to act emotionally stable.

All around the streets, there’s ghosts, some in clusters, a few just standing on their own, dotting about the road. The farther away they get from the school, the less crowded it becomes, and Jack lets out a huff, suddenly realizing he’d felt suffocated being surrounded by so many people, alive or not.

All the ghosts are still frozen, staring off into nothing. As Jack passes by a group of them, he swears he can see one of them looking at him at the corner of their eye. 

He hurries his steps a little. 

“At least the kids are having fun,” Adam notes, watching a group of kids trying to take photos with a group of frozen ghosts. One of them snaps the photo on their phone and then beckons the others over to see if the camera had caught the ghost. 

_“No way!” _one of them says. They’re successful, then.

Jack laughs. 

Both of them continue shambling forward, hands stuffed into their pockets to protect their hands from the morning chill, just watching everyone return to their lives as best as they can. 

“Sam says he’s got people guarding the cemetery,” Adam says. “In case anyone gets any ideas about jumping into Hell.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jack says, watching the group of children from earlier attempt to put a hat on one of the ghosts, and then gasping in awe as the hat stays. 

“At least everyone’s being cooperative,” Adam says. “Or, most of them are, anyway.”

Jack’s been fortunate enough to not have any unpleasant interactions with their more stubborn civilians, but he winces nevertheless. 

The chatter around them continues to grow as the morning rolls on - it’s so mundane, Jack thinks, juxtaposed against the backdrop of the end of the world, that it’s almost surreal. But these are all these people have, and he knows that. Not all of them are Sam and Dean Winchester. Not all of them are heroes. Not all of them are main characters in this universe, they’re just world building fodder. 

He thinks back to what Adam had said, during the ghost attack. They all can’t be Sam and Dean, and while Sam and Dean worry about the end of the world and make main character choices, these people don’t have that luxury or misfortune. They have their own lives, in their own little bubbles, and that’s as far as their influence extends. The universe won’t ever make coincidences for them to ensure its survival, and it won’t cater to them if danger presents itself, because they’re inconsequential to the universe’s structure. 

And that’s - 

“Hey, this might be jinxing it,” Adam says. “But what do you wanna do when this is over?”

Jack makes a face. “That _is _jinxing it, that’s what everyone in movies says before they die.”

“Shut up, it’s the end of the world, we might all die,” Adam says. “But for real.”

“I mean, what I always do,” Jack says. “I’d just go back to normal life.”

Adam lifts an eyebrow, and the questioning expression on his face reminds Jack so much of Dean that he remembers that they’re half brothers. He forgets sometimes. Adam feels more like _his _brother than his uncle.

“I mean, if - _when _we win,” Adam says. “It’s over. The Winchester Gospels are over. There’s no need for all of this anymore.” He motions around him. “Sure, there’s gonna be the usual cause-and-effect of the universe, so monster attacks are still gonna exist, there’s still gonna be ghosts - but, you know.” He shrugs. “Maybe it won’t be as…”

“Extravagant?”

“And flashy,” Adam says. “The story’s over, after all.”

Jack glances at the houses, with people sitting on their porches waiting for other people to open their doors as they fumble with their keys. 

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But it’ll still exist.”

“But you don’t have to subscribe to it, you know,” Adam says. “We’re...part of the Gospels, after all. We were put here by Chuck because of the Winchesters, and it sort of ping pongs back and forth every time he decides on a new plotline or whatever, but if Chuck’s gone, then can’t we just do whatever the fuck we want? No plot to abide by, no surprises, no recurring character thing?”

“The universe can just exist and we can just live in it?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Like normal people. In a normal world. Because this _is _our world’s normal. Hell, maybe everyone else’s normal _isn’t _normal because this universe was built to be for the Winchesters and the Winchesters’ existence means…”

“The supernatural,” Jack says. “Michael would debate you.”

“Michael’s not here, you have to fill his shoes,” Adam jokes. “And Bel’s.”

Jack sticks out his tongue, maturely. “I don’t wanna, you people talk around in circles a lot.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Adam says. Both of them come across a bench, so he sits down. Jack takes the space beside him. “Thinking about how fucked up the circumstances of us existing actually are.”

Jack hums, nodding. 

If he can just exist in the universe, no plot to follow, nothing dictating where he’s supposed to come in or what he’s supposed to do or stand for…

“What if we could stay here?” Jack asks.

“In this town?”

“Yeah, people already know what we are, who we are,” Jack says. “They don’t know we’re a show for an audience of one, sure, but they know us. They’re not gonna freak out over us or anything.”

Adam looks around thoughtfully. “A lot of them are friendly.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “If we could stay here, would you?”

After a while, Adam smiles. “Yeah, probably,” he says. “Why not? Get a job here, go to a local college, finally get a degree here. They already know about the supernatural stuff.”

“No more hiding out a bunker.”

“That would be nice,” Adam says. He pauses. “And now we really do sound like we’re jinxing it.”

Jack laughs, punching his shoulder lightly. 

They look around the town for a little while. The sun is rising, the temperature rising with it, but they’ve got a few minutes before it gets properly hot. 

“Staying here, huh?” someone says, taking a seat beside them. Adam scoots over to make room for them. 

It’s a young woman, hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a pillow in hand. Jack looks behind him. The couple who owns the house is still trying to get their door open, arguing amongst themselves. She’s probably waiting for them to get it over with.

“Keys won’t work?” Adam asks. 

“They’re trying to figure out which one works,” she says, laughing. “My legs were getting tired.”

“You guys need help?” Jack asks.

“They’ll figure it out. No need to trouble yourself.” The woman waves a hand. “What brings you guys here, though, uh…?” She pauses, staring at them. “Milligan and Kline, right?”

“Yeah,” Adam says.

“I’m fine with Jack,” Jack says. “We wanted to stretch our legs.”

“We were getting cabin fever,” Adam says. “Which is stupid in the middle of the apocalypse, but, it happened.”

The woman laughs. “How’s everything back there, by the way?”

“Busy. Everyone’s still moving out,” Adam says. “And we’ve still got a full day of operations ahead of us after.”

“It’ll be a lot quieter,” Jack says. “And a lot less crowded.”

“Yeah, but Sam’s still getting everyone to check in. He worries like that,” Adam says.

“Over everyone?”

“Listen, I may not know him all that well,” Adam says. “But ask Sam Winchester not who he should worry about but if he _can _worry about them, and the answer is almost always _yes.”_

“He’s got a big heart,” Jack says. “That’s why he’s really tall, gotta make room for all that heart. He’s like Tarrare, but instead of stomach, it’s 90% heart.”

Adam covers his mouth to stop his laughter, but ends up laughing his head off anyway.

“I’m not surprised, though,” Jack says, even as Adam’s still laughing. “Why not if he _can _afford to, after all?”

“I guess,” the woman says. “It’s just surprising, I guess.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “Like, earthquakes and hurricanes, it’s always about the concept of the safety of everyone. Sure, people worry, but it’s this vague idea, you know?”

Adam, who’s finally sobered from his mirth, nods. “I get that,” he says. “It’s not bad, it’s just - “

“Kinda distant.”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “I think it’s that. With Sam, I mean, but if the guy can go an extra mile, he’ll do two.” 

“He’s like that,” Jack says, smiling fondly. Sam had been one of the first people to ever even show compassion for him, even when he was still, to everyone else _Lucifer’s Son. _

Adam nods. “So if he can get everyone to individually check in so he can make sure they’re all present at the post-apocalypse roll call, the guy damn well will.”

The woman leans back in her seat, looking up at the sky. “That’s a big ask, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Adam says. “Sam does it anyway. Not to say everyone else doesn’t, but he’s just the more empathetic out of all of us, you know?”

“I think it balances out, somewhat,” Jack says. “When Dean’s goal-focused. Sam takes care of everyone while Dean takes care of the problem.”

“Cas is our voice of reason.” Adam snickers. “Because we all know Rowena isn’t.”

Jack laughs along with him. The woman, although not getting the joke, smiles along. 

“Thanks,” the woman says, “For taking care of everyone, I mean. It’s a lot, but you guys are still trying anyway.”

“Everyone’s just getting dragged into something they shouldn’t have been,” Adam says. “Of course we’d help.”

“Yeah, if we can help, why not?” Jack says, grinning. “Learned that from the best, after all.”

“Thank - uhh, _fuck_ that they taught you something worthwhile,” Adam says. Jack shoves his arm lightly again. 

The woman’s smile is warm, fond, like she’s watching old friends instead of strangers. Something about her changes, Jack sees, like a switch getting flipped off, and suddenly he realizes that she doesn’t look like any of their civilians from the school, and she’s not holding a pillow, but a rather expensive-looking handbag. 

No, she stands out even in her simple shirt and pants, like she’s almost high definition against the backdrop of the world. She smiles at him wider, knowing that he’s noticed the sheer _power _that’s coming off her in waves. 

Adam, beside him, is on high alert, having noticed the same thing. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” the woman says, “I’ve heard a few invitations from you here and there, but I just had to meet you boys first.” 

She offers them her hand, still smiling brightly. “My name’s Amara.”

* * *

Michael is exhausted. 

There isn’t a lot that gets him to admit that, but his situation is unprecedented, so it’s really no surprise it’s come to this. 

He looks around his immediate area, checking, just in case his father _has _followed him here, but he can’t sense him anywhere. 

With a small sigh, he allows himself to sit down, get a moment of rest. It won’t do him any good to burn himself out and get himself cornered because he’s gotten too tired to move. Might as well get his rest on the go, even for just a few minutes. Still, he makes sure to stay alert, listening to his surroundings intently. 

It’s nothing he’s not used to. He used to be a soldier, after all. 

He closes his eyes for a moment. Idly, he wonders how the others are doing. Adam’s no fool - even if Belphegor were to fumble with what to do with the Crook out of any sort of misplaced guilt, Adam would know exactly what Michael would want them to do, which was to continue with their objective. The end of the world is at stake. Him having to run around for a little while isn’t too big a price to pay for that. 

Hopefully they’re doing well. Hopefully they aren’t getting themselves into trouble.

There’s a sharp spike of power to his left, despite there being no noise to indicate anyone getting physically close to him. In the second it takes him to register this, he’s already on his feet, summoning his sword - a long flat golden blade with an ornately decorated hilt, unlike the usual angel blades of his brethren - and whirling around to point it to the throat of whoever’s gotten near him. 

The demon blinks at him.

“Shedim,” he says. 

“Hi,” the demon says. 

“What brings you here?” Michael asks, still not lowering his weapon even when the demon’s stance remains relaxed, and there’s no indication of their infernal energy rearing up for a fight. 

“Missing Persons Search Party,” they say, cracking a grin that almost looks familiar, but just happens to be on the wrong face. “How’ve you been, Mr. Prince of the Heavenly Hosts?”

“Significantly more irritated with you around.”

“Aww, you wound me,” the demon says, dramatically placing their hands over their host’s heart. They pause, eye twitching and a small frown flickering over their expression, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced with a cool flat look of indifference as they straighten and stare up at him. “Belphegor sends his regards.”

“So the idiot did it?”

The demon looks _offended, _for a reason he can’t pinpoint. “_Of course,_” they say. “Everyone in the school is safe. We’re looking for the Darkness right now.”

Michael runs the situation in his head. Of course. If they wanted to have enough fighting power against his father, then it would be best to get the Darkness on their side. He’s not sure they can pull it off, but he’s not around to offer his input to them either, so he can’t really do anything. All he can do is keep running and hope they know what the fuck they’re doing. 

Although - 

“Can you take a message back to Belphegor?” he asks, lowering his weapon.

“Depends on what it is,” the demon says.

“Provided it’s appropriate, you have the ability to, yes?”

“You’re a smartass.”

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing,” he says. 

“Yeah, sure,” the demon says, waving a hand. “What have you got for me, Mike?”

Michael makes sure to keep his voice low as he ventures a step closer, whispering a secret to the demon. The demon, thankfully, doesn’t make any moves to attack him, listening intently instead.

And then he steps back, raising his sword again. 

“You might want to move fast,” he says, grinning. “Because I’ve still got things to do around here.”

“Dramatic bitch,” the demon says, rolling their eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

They take a step back, and Michael drives his Grace into his raised sword. 

There’s a flash of bright light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to see if I can finish this fic before Supernatural returns and ends lmao 
> 
> writeblr: inkteacup.tumblr.com


	23. Chapter 23

With Jack taking a detour to check up on Belphegor, it’s Adam who has to bring Amara to their temporary dorm. She’s nice enough to wait while he gets everyone else, who’re probably also too tired in the morning to deal with any bombshells, but they’ve been antsy about getting any news for days anyway. They can deal with this. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. 

He wonders if this has got something to do with the Winchesters asking for the Shedim to look for the Darkness. They certainly got their results fast. It probably would have taken weeks at best, had it just been Adam and the others who tried it. 

“Sam?” Adam knocks on the open door of the research room. A few hunters look up at him, sparse in their numbers as some are likely still getting breakfast.

Sam’s not at his desk. 

“He hasn’t come in yet,” someone says.

“Thanks. Sorry,” Adam says, and ducks out the doorway to continue down the hall. He’s either in the kitchen or his dorm, but since the latter is closer, he makes his way to it, knocking on the door. 

“Sam?” he asks, and then tries the handle. It’s unlocked. When he swings the door open, the room is empty, the mattresses folded and propped up to the side, pillows and blankets carefully set beside it. 

Kitchen then. 

He swears a small line of curses under breath, hands shaking in nervousness. His stomach feels hollow, all of a sudden, and his entire body feels like it wants to spasm with pent up energy. 

The Darkness is _here. _Things are actually going right. 

“Sam?” he pushes the door to the kitchen open, forgetting his manners for just a second, before he mutters, “Ah, sorry - is Sam here?”

As he looks around, he sees that Sam isn’t, but Dean is.

“He’s up front. What do you need?” Dean, who’s commandeering the coffee machine and chewing around a bacon and cheese sandwich, motions behind him, where the cafeteria would be. Typical Sam, falling in line with everyone else instead of just getting his breakfast here like he’s supposed to, since he’s technically Anti-Apocalypse Effort staff.

“We found Amara.”

Dean promptly chokes on his bacon and cheese sandwich. 

He grabs for the coffee, realizes it’s still too hot to drink, and settles for beating his fist on his chest once, _hard. _

Apparently it works. “You _what?”_

“We found Amara.” Adam says, motioning to the direction he just came from like that helps. “W-we - Jack and I went for a walk and - well, she was the one who found us, really, but I think the Shedim found her and told her we wanted to talk and - “

Dean stares at him in disbelief for a moment, before he lets the information sink in and he nods. “Okay, uh - ”

_“Wait, what did I hear?” _Sam calls from up front. _“Dean?”_

“Just get in here, idiot,” Dean calls back. “We found Amara.”

_“What?”_

“We found - _get in here!”_

There’s a few seconds of noises from the cafeteria, Dean rolling his eyes and picking up his coffee mug and blowing on it, before Adam hears Sam’s heavy footsteps thudding down the hall behind him. 

He turns. His brother’s got his tray of food in the midst of that. Good on him.

“What happened?” Sam asks. Adam steps into the room so Sam can take his place in the doorway.

“They found Amara,” Dean says. “It worked.”

Sam lets out a laugh - that breathy nervous laugh he does, with his lips quirking up for just a moment before he finally settles on a smile, relieved and excited, but a hint of wariness still in his eyes. “It worked?”

“She’s waiting in our room,” Adam says.

“Okay,” Sam says, clearly nervous. Something’s going right - in the apocalypse against all apocalypses, _something is going right. _“Okay. I’ll get Rowena, you get Cas - where’s Jack?”

“Checking up on Bel, but I already told him to meet me in our room after.”

“Okay, good - five minutes - Dean, finish your sandwiches or bring them with you.” Sam slips out into the hallway, shoes squeaking with how fast he moves as he runs off to find Rowena. 

Adam turns back to Dean, who’s looking at his plate piled up with several sandwiches. He looks down at them with a thoughtful expression. 

“Dean?”

“You think Amara’s ever had bacon and cheese sandwiches?”

* * *

It turns out Amara _has _had bacon and cheese sandwiches before (although it should have been expected since she’s been on Earth for a few years now), but she still takes the food when it’s offered to her, half as a courtesy and the other half as a preemptive bribe. Adam looks at her for a moment, wondering if she’s got critique for Dean’s sandwich making skills, considering she’s_ The Darkness, _Chuck’s sister, the other half of the universe and all that, but she says nothing, keeping a polite, bright smile on her face as she eats.

She looks around at all of them as they sit in a circle on the mattresses covering the floor.

“The team has grown,” she says. 

“Yeah, uh.” Sam does that nervous twitchy smile thing he does again. He motions to Rowena. “Formal introductions. This is uh, Rowena.”

Rowena raises a hand and wiggles her fingers in greeting, offering a, “Hello, I’m their resident witch, because someone has to get things done around here.”

Adam laughs under his breath.

“You’ve met Cas,” Sam says, and Cas inclines his head down, looking awkwardly at the floor. Amara simply nods back.

Sam motions to Jack. “This is Jack.”

“Hi,” Jack says, raising a hand in his customary greeting. “I’m Castiel’s son.”

Amara raises her eyebrows, looking from him to Cas. “How old are you?”

“Three,” he says, smiling brightly.

“Ah,” Amara says. “I see.”

“He’s just turned three, actually,” Adam says. “A few weeks ago.”

“Oh, when?”

“May 18th.”

“Oh. Happy birthday, grandnephew.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, clearly happy with his grand aunt’s receptivity. 

Sam clears his throat awkwardly and motions to Adam. “This is Adam.”

“Hello,” Adam says. “You knew that, though.”

“The way angels know people with a single glimpse of their souls, yes,” Amara says. “But first impressions are almost always wrong and all that.” She waves a hand, flicking the bread crumbs on her fingers away. They go up in black smoke and never land anywhere. “I believe there’s still a lot for us to catch up on.”

“Your brother’s trying to end the world,” Dean says.

“So I’ve noticed,” Amara says, a twitch on her ever-present smile betraying her irritation, which is thankfully not at Dean. What is up with celestial entities and always smiling, anyway? Does the Empty do that too? Adam makes a note to ask Jack.

“Did you have any say in it?”

“No,” Amara says, simply. “We don’t...talk much these days.”

“What?” Sam asks, an edge of nervousness in his tone. “Didn’t you - “

“Make up? Yes, we did,” Amara says, and then pauses, frowning down at her empty plate. “But lately, his habit for pretentiousness has been a little grating.”

“Ah, siblinghood,” Rowena says, understanding. “It happens.”

“Unfortunately,” Amara says. “He can be a little self-righteous.”

“A little?” Adam mutters, under his breath, but Amara catches it anyway, laughing.

“He can be plenty self-righteous,” she says. “If something doesn’t go his way, he tends to have temper tantrums. Not always, so it’s not a predictable pattern, but that just makes it even irritating, when you can’t guess when he’s going to blow up and at what.”

“Ah,” Adam says, recalling a few names from his days in high school and college, since he can’t really remember the faces anymore even if he tried. “Yeah, I’ve met people like that.”

Even Sam winces, although he says nothing. 

“What kind of friends are you all making?” Dean asks. 

“It’s not like we know off the bat they’re assholes, and you would know how it goes if you had a social life, Dean,” Sam says. 

Castiel puts his hand to his face, breathing in deeply.

“But back to the topic,” Rowena says, “How long has it been since you’ve both talked?”

“A few weeks ago,” Amara says. “He killed my masseuse. I was on vacation.”

“You go on vacations?”

“I’ve been on vacation since we made up, _technically,_” Amara says. “Although I have been taking a few classes here and there. You know - cooking, sewing, art, yoga. The usual. I was thinking about dance classes before he went ahead and did this.”

“Wow,” Jack says, genuinely intrigued. 

Amara laughs lightly. “This world is fascinating,” she says. “And it’s quite nice to see things that my brother _hasn’t _created. The new perspectives are refreshing. I’ve been on a bit of a kick on listening to new points of view and listening to them, lately.”

Adam thinks back to his and Jack’s conversation earlier. If he could just exist in the world simply because he exists, what would he do?

“Free will is a wonderful thing,” Castiel offers.

“It really is,” Amara says. She pauses. “You know you all don’t have to skirt around the situation, yes?”

There’s a collective sigh around the room, everyone’s postures easing slightly, but not all out of relief. Some of them are just tired, exhausted with having to deal with the apocalypse yet again.

“What do you know about what’s going on?” Dean asks, finally, after several minutes of silence.

“That one day I was minding my own business,” Amara says, “And then I felt a powerful surge of Grace, and then suddenly it’s like I’m standing on an unstable bridge.”

“You can feel the instability?” Adam asks.

“Yes. You know about it?”

“We’ve talked about it. Michael knew a lot about it,” Adam says.

Amara raises an eyebrow. “Michael?” She turns to Dean. “The first born son Michael? Prince of the Heavenly Hosts Michael?”

“He’s on our side,” Dean says. “He’s not going to...do anything.”

“Not that he could, but it’s just surprising,” Amara says. “He’s not the type to go against his Father.”

“Yeah, well, we all had to get some character development at some point,” Adam says. “Because he literally just put himself in danger so we could all be here.”

“Chuck’s after him,” Jack says. “We think he wants to get him on his side. Michael’s on the run, we don’t know where he is right now.”

“I see,” Amara says. “And how did this come to be?”

Jack points to Adam. 

“During Apocalypse Original Flavor, I became his vessel. We got trapped in the Cage with Lucifer for the sake of stopping said apocalypse.”

“And I saw Lucifer a few years ago, so…”

“Yeah, he got out, we didn’t,” Adam says. “Had a few years to bond down there. We crawled out when Chuck popped Hell a new one.”

“That explains it,” Amara says. “And the ghosts.”

“It was an organized attack from the Shedim,” Castiel says. “But Belphegor got it under control.”

“Belphegor’s another one of us,” Adam says, as explanation. “He’s got the entirety of Hell under control, but he’s passed out right now. It takes a lot out of him.”

“He’s the one who sent those demons to look for me, then?” Amara asks.

“Yeah,” Adam says. “He’s in the infirmary.”

Amara nods, letting the whole conversation sink in. “I did hear you, Dean,” she says, eventually, “But I wanted to see what was going on myself before I answered. And then you sent your demons, and I figured it was getting urgent.” 

“Can you help us?” Dean asks. “You like your vacations and your classes, don’t you?”

Amara gives him a look. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch, instead matching her stare. 

There is a thick, awkward pause. 

Finally, she says, “I have no experience with creating something on this big of a scale.” She looks down at her plate again, deep in thought. “You may think that things like these, for us, is as easy as breathing, but it’s not. Chuck created worlds upon worlds upon worlds that failed over and over before he managed to finally create this, and every other variation of it. I cannot be your immediate solution to this universe’s instability, so I need you to understand that.”

Dean looks like he’s about to open his mouth in protest, but Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. He stops.

“This is why my brother is scared of you,” Amara says, turning to Jack. “I could tell, when he came to meet me before our last, unfortunate encounter. Something had spooked him, and he said something about a nephilim.”

“I know I messed up with the lying thing…” Jack starts, but Amara shakes her head.

“It’s not that, Jack,” Amara says. “I am not as well-versed with my brother on the rules of his universe, but I have been in it long enough to notice things. You were born _of _this universe, and you belong here; you possess a human soul, which is strong enough to let an angel recover their Grace, and you also possess Grace, a fundamental part in keeping the universe standing. If the universe was a puzzle, you are a piece that fits perfectly in it, with so much power to spare that you can use with ease. You were made for it, after all.”

Jack looks down at his hands, thoughtful.

“Grace is a fundamental part of the universe,” Amara says. “It’s like atoms. It makes up a good chunk of what makes this whole thing run, and it’s why angels look like stars and stars look like angels. So if you have access to it, are able to pull at it _just so…_”

“You can shape the universe however you want,” Castiel says. “Or a part of it.”

Amara nods. “That’s why you can fly distances impossible physically, why you can conjure up things out of thin air. It’s not thin air, it’s just Grace, all around you, and you have the natural ability to use it, as this universe dictates, and so you are able to.”

“Laws of the universe,” Adam whispers, turning to Jack.

“However,” Amara says. _“I _do not belong in this universe. I exist outside of it. I can exist in it, sure, but it doesn’t mean I was made for it. I don’t belong in it, even if I can interact with it. I can do a few things here and there, sure, but ultimately, I don’t know how to fix the tears in it.”

“But someone with Grace can,” Sam says. “Especially someone with archangel Grace.”

Castiel glances at his son, who’s still looking down at himself. 

It’s up to him, now. 

“What I can do is try to stop my brother from creating more damage,” Amara says. “I want to make this clear, before you put your hope in something nonexistent.”

“Thanks,” Dean says.

“It’s just decency, isn’t it?” she asks, cracking a smile. 

“So Jack fixes the rifts,” Rowena says. “And you stop your brother from kicking open any more holes.”

“I can try to,” Amara says.

“Can you kill him?”

Amara freezes.

“Amara…” Dean says. 

Amara doesn’t answer, instead just staring at all of them, before she looks away. When she speaks, she sounds hesitant. “That would be a little more difficult,” she starts, but before anyone can say anything, she continues, “Do you remember what I said about Grace?”

“It’s a fundamental part of the universe,” Dean says.

“Grace is what constitutes my brother,” Amara says. “The universe’s Grace, the angels’ - even Jack’s - all of it came from him.”

“That’s what makes him able to just do what he wants here,” Sam says.

“Correct,” Amara says. “It’s written into the universe’s code - it’s DNA, if you will - how Grace exists and stems from him and how all that have the right to use it can manipulate it however they want. But you need to understand - “ She pauses again. “It stems from him. It...the reason Grace even exists in this universe is because he wrote his being into it. He wrote himself into this universe. To say Grace is a fundamental part of the universe is to say - “

“That so is he,” Dean says. “You can’t kill him.”

“Not without killing the rest of existence,” Amara says. “Did you forget? When I tried to kill him, the sun nearly went out.”

“Can’t we get Grace elsewhere?” Jack asks.

Amara shakes her head. “In the beginning, there was me and him. All that you have right now is because of him, and there is no beyond us and that you can just take Grace from.”

“Do you have Grace?” Adam asks.

“I have Emptiness,” Amara says. “I have Void. Where he is creation, I am destruction. Where he is something, I am nothing. Where he is abundance, I am void. The Darkness and The Light.”

“Fuck,” Adam says, lifting his hands up to press the heels of his palms into his eyes. Right. Right, right, right, right. _Great. _

“The Cage,” Jack says. “We can lock him away.”

Adam looks up. 

“We can lock him away,” Jack repeats. “We already know how to fix everything else. We can resurrect the angels for Heaven, Belphegor can return Hell to where it came from, and I can fix the rifts.”

“That might work,” Castiel says. He turns to Amara. “He locked you away once, after all.”

“And the Empty still exists,” Jack says. “It’s the last remnant of you in this universe, it said so.”

“He didn’t write it out?” Amara murmurs, mostly to herself. Adam notices it even as Jack continues on.

“So even if we lock Chuck away, we’ll still be able to exist,” Jack says. 

“That really might work,” Sam says, sharing a look with Rowena, disbelieving but excited. “If the Cage isn’t strong enough, then we can use the same thing Chuck locked Amara away with. Amara, do you - “

“I remember,” she says. “The Mark will require a living lock, but yes, I remember.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Rowena says. “Let’s draw up some plans - “

“Wait,” Dean says, standing suddenly. “Everybody out for a second.”

“Dean?” Sam asks.

“Give us a moment,” Dean says, looking down at Amara. She gives him a confused look, tilting her head in a way that reminds Adam of Castiel. They really were related, huh.

“You have networks to run,” Dean says, glancing at his brother and Rowena. “And you still need to check up on Bel, Jack.”

Adam looks at Dean curiously, as does everyone else, but since he doesn’t seem to be backing down, they all nod, slowly, and get up from their seats. 

“We’ll talk again at dinner,” Dean says. “Meet back here, at six.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “You sure?” He glances down at Amara, who remains seated, confused frown now more pronounced as she watches everyone head for the door.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Dean says.

Adam hears the door open, and hears everyone file out. Jack mutters a small, “I hope Bel’s okay,” as he leaves, immediately starting to jog once he’s out in the hallway. Rowena herself sighs as she wonders out loud how her network is faring without her, and Sam laughs before he goes the opposite direction for his own network’s office. 

In the room, Dean sits back down, right across Amara, who’s staring at him with wary, undivided attention. 

Adam steps out, and closes the door behind him. 

He sits down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just saw the trailer before I posted this
> 
> I'M ABOUT TO GO BALLISTIC
> 
> tumblr: https://inkteacup.tumblr.com/


	24. Chapter 24

There’s silence on the other side for the first few minutes. Adam shifts nervously - maybe Dean knows that he’s right outside or something; he’s constantly alert for everything after all, Adam wouldn’t put it past him to count if Adam’s taken any steps or not - but finally, he hears something. 

_ “You okay?”  _ Dean asks.

_ “Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”  _ Amara says, but even Adam can hear the slightly forced tone in her voice. It sounds a little too light, too happy, and he realizes he recognizes the tone from hearing Belphegor talk all the time. 

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose.

_ “You didn’t look okay.” _

Amara laughs.  _ “I’m fine, Dean,”  _ she says,  _ “How have you been?” _

Quick to change the subject, Adam notes. 

_ “Been well,”  _ Dean says.  _ “As well as anyone can be with the way I live, anyway.” _

_ “Mm. I imagine your cholesterol levels are as high as ever.” _

_ “Are you spying on my cholesterol levels?” _

_ “Maybe, maybe not,”  _ she says.  _ “Who’s to know?” _

Dean snorts. Nobody says anything else.

The silence is thick, heavy and tense. Adam’s thankful he’s not in the room to bask in the awkwardness. 

_ “Why are you here, Dean? Weren’t you busy?”  _ Amara finally says. 

_ “Just wanted to know if you were alright.” _

_ “I am, you can go now,”  _ she says.  _ “I’ll be fine. I should probably give myself a tour of the town, anyway.” _

_ “Amara.” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “Are you really okay after we just told you to kill your younger brother?” _

Another pause. 

_ “You didn’t, though,”  _ Amara says. 

_ “We might have changed the plan, but we did suggest it, didn’t we?”  _ Dean says.  _ “Locking him away for eternity doesn’t seem any better, anyway.” _

Amara doesn’t say anything. Adam doesn’t know her well enough to imagine what her response would be. 

_ “Why are you talking to me about this?”  _ she asks, eventually. 

Dean takes a while to answer.  _ “I’ve been there,”  _ he says.  _ “Thankfully, I’ve never had to do it, you know? But I’ve been there, I know what it’s like.”  _ He pauses again.  _ “How much do you know about your brother’s original plan for the apocalypse?” _

_ “The general gist of it,”  _ she says.  _ “Lucifer vs. Michael, with you and your brother as the vessels. Your bloodline was cultivated and preserved to make sure you would be able to successfully host the archangels.” _

_ “Mm, yeah, well, it was messier than it sounded,”  _ Dean says.  _ “Before we even knew about the whole vessel thing and whatnot - there was - “  _ He hesitates.  _ “Sam had these abilities.” _

Adam raises his eyebrows. Huh. 

_ “He could see the future, sometimes,”  _ Dean says.  _ “And there was this demon that kept convincing him to chug demon blood by the gallon, and he could move shit with his mind whenever he did that. He could also exorcise demons without touching them or saying the rites, which was useful - I can understand why at that time, he saw it as useful, but…” _

_ “I imagine the chugging demon blood thing wasn’t all that healthy?” _

_ “No, it wasn’t,”  _ Dean says.  _ “And that scared the shit out of me.” _

Adam hears Amara hum in response while Dean collects his thoughts.

_ “When I was younger, my dad used to tell me that we had to make hard choices for the greater good,”  _ he says.  _ “Shoot first, ask questions later. Don’t take any chances with anyone. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t stick around for too long. Make sure you’re not making any liabilities for yourself. All that.”  _

Adam imagines his brother waving a hand around. 

_ “And - he used to tell me, if Sammy ever…”  _ he trails off.

Adam leans his head back on the door in understanding. Amara’s silent, but he thinks she’s caught on too. 

Fuck John Winchester. Adam’s never hated the man - if only because he was never around that the only emotion Adam ever really felt towards him was awkward whenever he visited, and he just forgot about him every other day of the year - but  _ fuck him.  _ Adam’s not close with either of his half brothers, but he’s still gonna be absolutely fucking livid at the thought of the man telling Dean to kill his younger sibling.

_ “I thought about it a lot, when Sam was being strung around, drinking demon blood,”  _ Dean says.  _ “The whole world was at stake, I understood that. I knew that. People were gonna die, it was for the sake of everyone else - but - “ _

_ “He’s still your younger brother.” _

_ “Yeah.” _

Adam feels anxiety buzz around in his gut. If any of his friends turned on him, would he be able to take them down, even for the good of the world? Maybe, eventually, he could. Maybe, through a lot of tears, he could, but he feels like he’d just fall apart right after.

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks. 

_ “Thank you for telling me that,”  _ Amara says. 

At least she’s not questioning why Dean’s opening up in the first place - he’s not exactly the most emotionally eloquent - but she’s smart enough to know that it’s already taking a lot out of him, and it’s best to just not point it out and accept it. He’s trying, at least, to comfort someone. And it’s someone who might have to lock someone they love away, for the good of the world. There’s no dallying or pushing the topic aside. 

_ “I still don’t know if I can do it, if I’m being honest,”  _ Dean says.  _ “I trust Sam to be able to fight through things - at this point, we’ve fought through a lot that I would be surprised if there’s anything he  _ ** _can’t _ ** _ handle, but...if something ever happens and it comes down to that, I’m not gonna be a hypocrite and say I can do what’s right; I’m not gonna promise that.” _

_ “Would you hold it against me?”  _ Amara says.  _ “If I can’t bring myself to lock my brother up?” _

Pause. 

_ “...no.” _

Adam closes his eyes. 

_ “No, I wouldn’t,”  _ Dean says.  _ “I don’t know how you see your brother, but I wouldn’t.” _

_ “Thank you,”  _ Amara says. Her voice breaks at the end. She tries again, a little steadier.  _ “Thank you. We don’t always get along, but - there was a time - there still  _ ** _are _ ** _ times when we can both be reasonable with each other,”  _ she says.  _ “We only have each other in this universe, after all. He can make his worlds, and he can make his stories, but all I have is just...him.” _

Dean makes a noise in acknowledgement. 

_ “You know how that went,”  _ she says,  _ “When I got upset about all of this. He locked me up, yeah, and I was...angry - “ _

_ “It was fair.” _

_ “ - but - I couldn’t destroy this world, not when everything in it is so beautiful. Not when he’s my brother and we could still talk it out, after all,”  _ she says.  _ “Sure, it’s been a rocky few years, because he’s gotten into his moods again, but I can’t seem to give up on him.”  _ She pauses.  _ “Do you ever feel that way with Sam?” _

_ “Yeah,”  _ Dean says.  _ “We used to argue a lot, before. We’ve mellowed out now, but, we used to blow up at each other for every little thing.” _

_ “I see,”  _ Amara says.  _ “So it still happens even with you humans, huh?” _

_ “All the time,”  _ Dean says.  _ “We’re all petty bastards.” _

_ “That we are,”  _ Amara says. When she speaks again, her tone is somber.  _ “But I still have to stop him.” _

Adam looks down at his lap. He knows it’s for the greater good, but his chest hurts in pity anyway. 

_ “I love this world,”  _ Amara says.  _ “People around here have so much hope, so much belief that things will get better and the universe will guide them to good lives. They believe in possibilities and potential and they hope that all of it is for good, and when I see it, I remember that once upon a time, my brother used to love these things too, and that’s why he created it.”  _ She laughs lightly.  _ “And it’s something new, it’s something I’ve never had before. I can just be someone who’s learning how to sew here, someone learning how to draw, someone trying to learn everything that fascinates me, and that’s a whole lot better than the nothing we used to both sit in.” _

Adam remembers Belphegor, remembers what he said. He remembers what Jack asked him. If they could just be anything, just bask in the endless possibilities presented to them once they’ve burned up the script, what would he do?

_ “I love my brother, but these people don’t have to die,”  _ Amara says.  _ “So - I have to.” _

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Dean says.

_ “Don’t be,”  _ Amara says, laughing again.  _ “It’s not your fault he decided to throw a tantrum again. I’ll deal with it.”  _

_ “Thank you,”  _ Dean says.  _ “But for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.” _

_ “Me too,”  _ Amara says.  _ “Thank you.” _

Adam listens to the quiet, and moves to stand when he thinks they’re not going to say anything else. As he gets up, he hears Dean talk again.

_ “Amara.” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “You’re a good person,”  _ he says.  _ “Just - just saying.” _

Adam smiles. Dean could use a few more friends, he thinks. The guy’s already as isolated as he is, what with the Hunter lifestyle. 

_ “Thank you,”  _ Amara says.  _ “You don’t mind if I take a look around town, do you?’ _

_ “Nah, knock yourself out. Just be back for the meeting.” _

Adam walks down the hallway, heading for the infirmary. Hopefully Belphegor’s still resting, the poor guy needs it, but hopefully Jack’s also not getting too drained helping him. 

And hopefully this apocalypse won’t end in tears, but he’s not sure if he can even ask that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me sliding my last five bucks at the writers: what about,,,dean and amara friendship
> 
> TUMBLR (i just,,,reblog references sometimes, but you can send me asks): https://inkteacup.tumblr.com/


	25. Chapter 25

“Bel’s still asleep,” Jack says, before Adam can close the door of the infirmary behind him. The young man is frowning at the bed, when Adam turns to face him. “He was fine when I got here. I haven’t eased his headaches, but he’s fine.”

“That doesn’t seem normal,” Adam says. In any other situation, this should be good news, but instead, it just makes his stomach buzz with anxiety. 

“I don’t think it is,” Jack says. 

Adam makes his way to the bed, taking Belphegor’s wrist to check for a pulse. It’s steady. He hovers a hand right below Belphegor’s nose. He’s breathing fine. 

“Is he okay?” Jack asks. 

“I’m not sure yet.”

Adam heads for one of the doctors’ offices to the right of them. No one’s been using them, but all their volunteers have agreed to keep the doors unlocked in case they needed to grab equipment or needed the spare space for the injured. 

He shoves the door open and immediately heads for the desk, pulling out drawers in search of a pen torch. He finds one on the topmost drawer, thankfully, clicking it on and off experimentally before hurrying back to Belphegor and Jack. 

Carefully, he pries one of the demon’s eyelids open. 

“Dilated pupils,” he says, out loud, out of habit. He clicks the pen torch on and shines it at Belphegor’s eye. 

The demon’s pupils stay dilated. 

“_Shit, _he’s unresponsive,” Adam says, shutting off the torch and turning on his heel, running towards the door - and then stopping. 

They can’t send him to the hospital. They probably won’t even know what’s wrong if they sent him to the hospital, because they can’t trust that his bodily functions would be the same as a human’s. His body is originally a Nephilim’s, after all, and he doesn’t even need to breathe and only does it out of habit. 

“Adam?” Jack asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I - “ Adam forces his shoulders to relax, noticing that they’ve been tense. “I don’t know.”

He turns, slowly, turning the pen torch over slowly in his hand. Belphegor’s pulse is steady and he’s breathing, but that might just be him putting the body on autopilot. He did heal the body’s lack of eyes. Maybe he’d healed the rest of it too, and now it's just in a vegetative, unresponsive state. 

“I’m not sure, since, he’s a demon and all. He doesn’t need bodily functions,” Adam says. “But his eyes are unresponsive to light.”

Jack frowns, and then gently tries to shake Belphegor awake. “Bel?”

No response. 

Jack shakes him harder. “Belphegor.”

Still nothing. 

Jack stares down at his friend in dawning horror. 

“He might be in a coma,” Adam says, “I _think. _I don’t even know how that’s possible. He’s a _demon.”_

Jack’s not listening, though. Instead, he’s staring down at his hands, mortified.

“Hey.” Adam rounds the bed to get to his side. “_Hey, hey, hey - _it’s not your fault.”

“But - “

“None of that,” Adam says, putting a firm hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You were trying to ease his headaches. We don’t know for sure if he’s in a coma. For all we know, he could just be actually sleeping.”

Jack doesn’t quite look like he believes him, but he nods anyway. 

“What do we do?” Jack asks.

“We tell everyone else,” Adam says, “And we make sure he’s safe until he wakes up. We’ll find a way to wake him up.” 

Jack is blankly staring down at his shoes. 

“Jack?” Adam asks. 

He blinks, snapping out of it. He nods again.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we’ll...tell the others.”

“We’ll find a way,” Adam says, squeezing his shoulder, before letting him go to run down the hallway and tell Sam and Dean. 

He doesn’t see Jack’s shoulders slumping, like the boy is collapsing in on himself, thinking, _Not again._

* * *

“He’s comatose?” Castiel asks. 

“He _might _be,” Adam says, “I’m not sure. We didn’t cover _nephilim physiology but with a demonic entity _in med school.”

After the initial news had broken, they’d all come to the infirmary to check up on how Belphegor was doing. As Adam had told them, he had a pulse, he was breathing fine, but his pupils were dilated and unresponsive to light. He also wouldn’t wake up even if someone tried to shake him awake.

Rowena had offered to look into a few things, see if she could find anything on awakening demons from slumber, because there _had _to be something on that, outside of what movies said. Dean had said he'd talk to Amara to see if she could do anything once she got back from town. 

It’s the afternoon, currently, so she should be back soon. Castiel, Jack and Adam are sitting by the unconscious demon’s bed, waiting for the others, as Rowena’s still wrapping a few things up with a call, Sam’s trying to send a few more files to some of their hunters on the field, and Dean’s waiting for Amara so he can tell her there’s been a change of plans.

Hopefully someone’s got something. Jack hopes they do. 

He stares down at his hands again. He’s been picking at them all day, crescent nail-marks all over his palms. A few scabbed scratches here and there. 

Of course he’d fuck up badly again.

What went wrong, though? He was trying to soothe and quiet down the voices in his friend’s head. That was all. Did he use too much Grace? Did he completely quiet down Belphegor’s brain functions instead? That shouldn’t have affected him, though - he didn’t need bodily functions. He was a demon. 

So what happened?

“ - Jack?” 

“Huh?” Jack looks up at his father, who’s staring at him in concern.

“Are you alright?’ Castiel asks.

“Oh.” Jack forces a small smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The concern on Castiel’s face doesn’t ease. Jack looks away from him, avoiding Adam as well, instead focusing on the bed sheets. The folds look interesting.

His father sighs, but doesn’t press. Jack’s thankful.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, punctuated only by the infirmary door opening and closing as a few volunteers flit in and out, grabbing headache or cold medicine for a few people who’ve asked for them. None of them approach the group, but a few do give them a sympathetic glance. 

Jack hunches in on himself further. Some people probably overheard Adam talking to the others, and the news just spread fast. He wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town knew about this by the next day. 

Finally, the others file into the room, grabbing some of the extra chairs piled on the side to sit on. 

“Find anything?” Jack asks as Rowena settles across him. 

Her gaze softens, pity flashing across her face for just a second before it’s gone.

“Nothing yet, I’m afraid,” she says. “You’d be surprised by how little there actually is about awakening demons since most demons _are _already awake, just locked off somewhere." She smiles slightly to herself as she thinks of a joke, but mutters it out of respect for the situation. "Although I imagine that’s not the case these days. 

“Nothing’s changed?” Sam asks. 

Adam shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Amara, careful, makes her way around the bed, close enough to inspect Belphegor’s seemingly peaceful, sleeping face. 

“This is Belphegor?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“He looks familiar,” she says. “Aside from - “ She looks at Jack, who manages to crack a small smile. 

“He stole Jack’s original body,” Adam says. “The one Jack’s wearing is a new one.”

“Seems par for the course for all of you, to be honest,” Amara says. She places a hand on the demon’s forehead, a look of concentration on her face. 

Jack looks up and watches, eyes flickering between her and Belphegor’s sleeping form. 

“He’s here,” she says, but frowns before Jack can allow himself to feel any relief. 

“What is it?” he asks.

“He’s very faint,” Amara says. “He’s still in his body, but…”

“Is he fading?” Adam asks.

“I can’t tell,” Amara says. “I don’t have any reference for if this has been worse than it has been a few days ago. When did this start?”

“Just yesterday,” Jack says.

Amara nods. She takes her hand back. “We’ll keep an eye on him, then.”

“Can you do anything?” Dean asks. “You brought mom back - once.”

Amara shakes her head. “It was a matter of moving your mother from Heaven to Earth. If he were in Hell, I could simply pull him back here. But he _is _here,” she says. “I’m not made of whatever demons are made of. I can’t give him anything to give him a boost.”

Jack’s hands, set on his lap, clench into fists. Demons don’t take to Grace very well. He likes to think he’s got a good grasp of his powers - they’re instinctual to him, after all. Even with abstract concepts, as long as he means it, it will happen. He’s proved that again and again, with grabbing his father from the Empty and effectively resurrecting him ; making the world stop lying with just a thought. He doesn’t have to think of the semantics, he just has to make sure he _wants _it. 

Was that where he fucked up? Relying too much on his instincts and not knowing he was doing damage?

“A part of the plan relied on him,” Rowena says. “We’re gonna have to find a way to wake him up.”

“Yeah, he said he had a way to get Michael back, right?” Sam says. 

“And the stupid bingo cards,” Adam says.

“I see,” Amara says. “Michael’s on the run from my brother, still, right?”

_“Yeah.”_

The voice doesn’t belong to any of them, so everyone turns to it, immediately on edge, chairs scraping on the floor with how fast they all stand. 

On the bed across them, there is a young man, dramatically lying down on his side on the bed, one leg crossed over the other while his arm that isn’t leaned on the mattress is poised so that he can place a hand on his hip.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean asks.

“Shedim,” Castiel says, immediately recognizing the sheer power coming off of the man.

“Hey,” the Shedim says, lifting the hand on his hip into a wave. “I got a message from Michael.”

“How?” Adam asks.

The demon pushes himself up so he can sit, and then hops off the bed. “Ran into him while looking for her. Good to see she did get here.” He motions to Amara. “He’s fine, by the way. A little beat up, but fine. Also on the run, so I have no idea where he is now.”

Jack sighs with relief. Across him, Adam does too. That’s one thing going right, at least.

“That’s not the message though,” the demon says, the carefree demeanor dropping. “He says Chuck has a blindspot.”

“A blindspot?” Sam asks.

“He’s weak enough to only be able to focus on one thing at a time,” the demon says. “Which is why Michael thinks it’s of utmost importance that you don’t summon him back.”

Adam frowns. _“What - “_

“He’s distracting him, Milligan,” the demon says, crossing his arms. “Now unless you’re all ready to go at him guns blazing, I suggest you think this all through.” He grins. “We’re back on the bus, boys.”

Adam steels his jaw, but says nothing else. Jack keeps his mouth shut as well. The demon’s right. They have to be careful. He especially has to be careful. He’s messed up enough as it is.

“He’s running his father around?” Rowena asks.

“Purposely slowing down and drawing attention to himself, I think,” the demon says. “Carrots and horses and all that.”

“Of course he is,” Adam mutters.

“He’s buying us time,” Dean says. “And we have to use that - we don’t know when we’re running out.”

“Well, we’re almost there,” Rowena says, motioning for everyone - including the demon - to sit down. "Don't lose your heads over it so far into this now."

The Shedim blinks, but grabs a chair to sit. 

“We’re going to have Amara and whichever angels we have on our side fight Chuck in the Cage," Rowena says. "Hell’s open, so it should be easy to get there. Jack’s still going to be fixing the rifts.”

Amara says nothing. Jack catches Dean giving her a glance, but she just nods.

“We’re gonna have to _close _the Cage, though,” Sam says. “But - “

“I can handle that too,” Jack says. “I can just - close everything.”

_That _he can definitely do. He has to be able to pull it off. He can’t _not _pull it off.

“You told the Empty it was gonna be speaking to Sam and Dean next time,” Adam says, motioning to Jack. “They can talk to it, convince it to send some of the angels back.”

“It can’t say no if it’s Sam and Dean,” Jack says, nodding. 

“How’re we going to do that?” Sam asks. “The Empty’s for angels and demons, right? Even if we tried to put ourselves in a state of near-death, we wouldn’t be able to get there.”

“Good thing you have me, then,” Amara says, smiling. “_I _wrote the Empty. I can easily make room for you there.”

“You _what_?” Dean asks.

Amara laughs. “Back when my brother and I used to agree on things - the first time, I mean - I tried to help him with his world. Heaven was for good human souls, Hell for bad human souls, and Purgatory for monsters. If the universe needed a sink for its consequences then on the _chance _that angels or demons died - “

“You made the Empty,” Sam finishes.

“Correct,” Amara says. “I...am surprised he didn’t take it out after we fought.”

“Plagiarism,” Dean says.

Adam snorts. Sam lets out a small laugh.

“After you two get the angels,” Rowena says, “We lure Chuck in, however we can, into the Cage. You and the angels make sure he’s there when we close the Cage - “ she points to Amara. “ - but you get out of there as fast as you can before it fully closes. Jack then fixes the rifts.”

“We find a way to get Hell back to where it belongs,” Castiel says, turning to Belphegor. “We wake Belphegor up.”

“And we avert the apocalypse,” Sam says. “For good.”

“For good,” Dean echoes. “For actual, final good.”

“Yeah,” Sam says.

Both of them quiet for a moment. Jack can’t blame them. Years and years of their lives, finding out that they were all just pawns from the start, and it could all be over for good if they can pull this off. Chuck’s story is down, the Winchester Gospels are done. It’s over, for real this time. 

It must be freeing. It must be terrifying.

“How will we know that Chuck hasn’t gotten bored of chasing Michael?” Castiel asks.

“We don’t,” Dean says. “That’s why we gotta act fast.”

“Wait,” Sam says. The whole room turns to him.

“Sam?” Dean asks.

“Remember when I - “ Sam turns to everyone else, then seems to realize that whatever conversations he and Dean have had in private, they haven’t heard it. “I was - I shot Chuck, at the cemetery, after he killed Jack.”

“Met your maker and shot him,” the Shedim mumbles. Jack gives him a stern look, but he just grins and lifts his hands in surrender, in a way that’s so strikingly familiar that it gives Jack a sense of deja vu.

“And that gun was supposedly like - “

“An equalizer,” Dean says, with distaste.

“It could kill anything,” Sam says, “For the price that whatever injury the victim has, the shooter takes.”

“So you shot him,” Rowena says, “And you took the injury too.”

Sam points to his shoulder, wincing. “Yeah,” he says, and then slowly unbuttons the top of his shirt, pulling it aside, along with the t-shirt underneath, to reveal a nasty wound on his shoulder. 

“How long has that been there?” Amara asks.

“Weeks.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s had weeks to recover_,” _Adam says. “What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, giving another nervous, mirthless laugh. “Wasn’t the only thing I’ve gotten from him.” He pauses for a moment, setting his shirt back and re-doing his buttons. He looks down at the floor. 

Finally, he says, “I’ve been...getting visions.”

“Psychic visions?” Adam asks.

“No, I - I don’t know - “ Sam says. “I think...I think they’re Chuck’s thoughts.” He pauses again. “I’m not sure, but I keep seeing visions of how the apocalypse can turn out. How Dean and I turn out.”

“Like, writer’s drafts?”

“I...guess,” Sam says.

“Exclusive content,” the demon mutters again, and it’s ridiculous enough that Jack can’t help but snort and turn to him, expecting Belphegor - 

Except Belphegor is possibly comatose.

Jack sobers. He turns away and misses the curious look on the Shedim’s face.

“But, if they are Chuck’s thoughts, then we have a link,” Sam says. “And if I can find a way to control it, then…”

“You’re our inside man,” Dean says.

“Yeah,” Sam says, grim smile on his face. “I’m your inside man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supernatural is???? ending???? it's ENDING???????? IT'S SDFHSKJDFS ENDING????? IT'S NO LONGER GOING TO BE A CONSTANT IN MY LIFE DESPITE THE FACT THAT I FOOLISHLY ANCHORED MY SENSE OF PERMANENCE TO IT BECAUSE OF ITS LONGEVITY AND THE FACT THAT IT SAW ME CHANGE AND GROW BUT IT WAS ALWAYS THERE??? AND LIKE A TRUE CLOWN I JUST WENT YEAH,,,,,,,,THAT'S A GOOD ROCK TO ANCHOR MY SENSE OF REALITY TO,,,DKFJHSDFS IT'S ENDING??? 
> 
> good lord,,,,help i am s p i r a l l i n g
> 
> TUMBLR: https://inkteacup.tumblr.com/


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh my internet kept disappearing so this is late, sorry

They split themselves into teams, deciding on who goes with who as they continue to talk amongst themselves late into the evening. They need to familiarize themselves with exactly what they’re dealing with, and what cards they can play, so after hours of arguing, they settle on two teams, assigned with gathering information on Chuck, their possible allies, and the Cage.

Considering they can’t try to lure Chuck into the Cage and not know the state of it - if it’s still fit to hold a celestial being as big and powerful as Chuck himself, after every door in Hell has been blown wide open - the first team consists of Amara, Rowena, Castiel, and the Shedim, who are to go down to Hell (with the Shedim as their tour guide) and inspect the Cage. 

The second team consists of Sam, Dean, Jack, and Adam. Sam is to try and see if he can focus on his connection with Chuck and purposely dig up thoughts with it, Dean to try to talk to the Empty, while Jack and Adam stand guard over both of them, and Belphegor’s unconscious body. In case of any emergency, Jack is there to defend everyone and get them out of them.

Castiel, understandably, isn’t too keen on the plan, but Jack gives him a smile and a firm squeeze on the shoulder. 

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

His father doesn’t look convinced - although when is he ever, he’s been terrified ever since Jack died the first time - but he nods. 

They dismiss the meeting, around two in the morning, and get their rest. They’ll start their recon tomorrow, so they’ll need their strength.

“What about you?” Jack asks, turning to the Shedim, who’s dragging his chair to the side of Belphegor’s bed.

“Me?” the Shedim asks. He sounds spaced out, pausing suddenly, before the focus returns to his eyes. “I’ll look after the body.” He nods towards Belphegor.

Jack frowns, and shares a look with Adam, who’s also giving the Shedim a look of suspicion.

“Do you mind if we sleep here?” Adam asks.

The Shedim just smiles slightly. “Knock yourselves out.”

Adam snorts. Sam and Dean give the demon their own looks of suspicion, but say nothing else. If all the ghosts around the city haven’t gone berserk yet, then Belphegor has a good grip on Hell, comatose or not. They’ll know if they have to punt a demon straight back into Hell.

“I’ll get us pillows,” Adam says, to Jack, who nods and stays seated right where he is even as everyone disperses. Castiel gives his son one last pat on the shoulder, before he too, leaves. 

The Shedim makes himself comfortable across Jack, sitting on the other side of Belphegor’s bed. Neither of them say anything, Jack staring at the demon, and the demon staring at...the other demon the bed, the awareness in his eyes going distant again. 

Belphegor had said that the Shedim were a little harder to control than the ghosts, right? That they were all technically still functional, even if they couldn’t harm anyone. Could they harm Belphegor? Was that a loophole in their contract? It couldn’t be, they were supposed to help them while the apocalypse was ongoing. Even if they wanted to hurt him, they couldn’t hurt him right now.

“What are you thinking, Jack?” 

Jack snaps out of his musings. The Shedim has leaned his elbow on the edge of the bed, cradling his cheek on the palm of his hand, still with that thousand-yard-stare, looking at Belphegor.

Shit, maybe he’s not as spaced out as he looks.

Jack studies him for a moment.

“Why…” he starts, but his voice is shaky, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Why do you want your freedom?”

The Shedim snorts, a gesture so human it almost shocks Jack. “Who doesn’t want their freedom?” he asks him. “You and the humans want it. This demon wants it.” He points a finger to Belphegor. “What makes us wanting it different?”

A ton of things, but Jack doesn’t say that. Instead, he asks, “Do you want to hurt people?”

“Is that all freedom is, up here?” the Shedim asks, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “The freedom to hurt others?”

Jack pauses. “No,” he says. “But it’s something you can do.”

The Shedim nods. “I suppose we’ll think it over.”

“We’ll stop you,” Jack says. “If you try to.”

“And you’ll lock us up again?”

“Maybe,” Jack says.

The Shedim hums. He still doesn’t look at Jack.

“Why did you attack us?” Jack asks, after minutes of silence. 

“Winchesters.” The demon says, shrugging.

“What, just that?”

“Is that not a good enough reason?” The demon turns to Jack, finally, smiling. “We had no idea why the fuck Hell popped open, but it did, and we crawled our way out of there as fast as we could. But the Winchesters existing meant they were gonna cram all of us back down there again.” It makes a vague motion with its hand. “Why not?”

Jack frowns. “They hadn’t even done anything.”

“But they were gonna, weren’t they?” the Shedim asks. “And they still do. I promise you, after this is over, they’re gonna turn the contract around, or break it entirely, and we’re gonna be back in Hell again.”

Jack says nothing. He’s right - he doesn’t know how they’ll do it yet, but he’s sure that Sam and Dean  _ are  _ going to find a way around the contract so that the entirety of Hell - the Shedim included - are put back into where they should be. He can’t really find it in himself to feel bad about it, but - 

The demon turns away again, staring back at Belphegor. 

The Shedim lifts a hand, and Jack tenses, prepared to slap it away, but it just pokes the sleeping demon’s cheek.

“What makes him different?” the Shedim asks. “Is it because he’s low-ranking, because he’s too weak to hurt anyone? Because the potential lies in his intelligence rather than his raw power?” It pokes his cheek again. “Because he’s a tame animal?”

“He’s our  _ friend _ ,” Jack says, frowning. “Maybe he’s not Sam and Dean’s, but he’s my and Michael and Adam’s friend.”

“And why is that?” the Shedim asks. “Because he came in declawed?”

“Stop talking about him like that.”

“Why not?” The Shedim leans forward slightly, grinning this time, teeth bared. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? If he came in a little more powerful, if he came in showing you that raw power had nothing to do with what he was and still is capable of - would you have treated him the same?”

“He’s not a threat!”

“Because he never gave you reason to be considered a threat,” the Shedim says. “He’s smart, you know this. He’s smart enough to think of so many things on his feet, smart enough to create weapons that Hell would hide away in vaults, and he’s smart enough to make sure you perceive him as one thing when he’s another. You know him as the class clown, don’t you? And yet - “ the Shedim spreads his hands. “Hell is under his control.”

Jack clenches his fists, vehemently keeping them rested on his lap. He can’t punch this demon. He can’t kill him, otherwise their plan would be ruined. 

The door to the infirmary opens.

“Do you hate him?” Jack hears Adam ask. 

Ah. He’d overheard from outside. 

“Belphegor, I mean,” he clarifies.

“Of course I do,” the Shedim says. “We all do. He himself knows it.” He leans back, slouching as he sits. “After this is over, if he survives, he’s going to be walking around Earth freely.”

Adam says nothing. Instead, Jack hears the sound of pillows being set on one of the empty beds behind him. The Shedim says nothing else either, instead going back, once again, to staring at Belphegor.

“Jack,” Adam says, eventually, gently setting a hand on Jack’s arm. His fists are still clenched. He relaxes them, realizing how much his hands hurt. “You need rest.”

Jack looks at the demon for a few more minutes, before he nods and turns away, missing how the Shedim’s hand drops from its cheek, touching Belphegor’s side.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Sorry.”

* * *

Breakfast is spent reviewing the plan, going over what they’re supposed to do in case something goes wrong and what they’re to pay attention to when they carry out their tasks. Jack and Amara check up on Belphegor while they wait for Sam, Dean and Rowena to brief their networks as to what’s going down, and assign who’s to temporarily take their place.

Belphegor’s condition hasn’t improved. Amara tells them as much, when everyone’s gathered in the infirmary again. Surprisingly, though, it hasn’t gotten worse.

“It’s the same as it was yesterday,” she says. “He’s there, just faintly. Not fainter than he had been, though.”

“That’s...good? I guess?’ Jack shares an unsure look with Adam. 

Rowena pats his arm in comfort. “If he’s holding on like that while still keeping Hell in check, he’ll pull through,” she says.

After everyone’s confirmed that they’ve wrapped up whatever else they need to do before they leave, Jack connects a telepathic link between everyone’s minds - save Sam’s, in case Chuck will be able to get access to that via equalizer wound - similar to the one he and the others had been using from the very beginning of this whole mess.

He misses Michael. A lot. Good to know he’s alright, but still.

_ Wow,  _ is one of Dean’s thoughts that filter in through the link.  _ I hate this. _

** _You’ll get used to it, _ ** Jack thinks back at him, which causes the man to turn around towards him, alarmed. Jack grins nervously. Whoops. Looks like Dean hadn’t meant for that to come through.

“Like I said,” Jack says, “You’ll get used to it.”

“It’s freaky,” Dean says. 

“But it’s efficient,” Rowena says. 

“It’s not like we’ll be able to hear much of your thoughts while you’re in the Empty, anyway,” Amara says. “I imagine the metaphysical distance would be too great.”

“Right,” Dean says, remembering he’s supposed to go half-dead, or something, in order to have a chat with the Empty. He looks at the bed beside Belphegor’s, lips pressed to a thin, unamused line, before he sits and lies down on it. “Hit me, I guess.”

“You sure you’re ready?” Amara asks, taking her place beside him.

“I never am, but that’s how I do things, in general,” Dean says. A thought from him zips through the link.  _ I’m more concerned whether this will work out or not. _

“It will,” Adam says. “You’re one of the literal centers of this universe, and its way of fighting back its own collapse. If you ask for it, the universe will do everything in its power to make sure it works out.”

“I fucking hate this mind link shit,” Dean says. “This is creepy.”

Sam laughs, to which his brother throws him the middle finger.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Dean sits up a bit to look at him.

“Oh yeah,” Sam says, grinning. “Absolutely.” 

Dean throws a pillow at him. It misses and hits the wall.

“Settle down, children,” Rowena says, pushing Dean back so he lies down flat on the bed. “We don’t have time to waste. Michael can only bait his father so much.”

“Right,” Dean says, settling back down. 

Amara turns to him, eyebrow raised. He nods.

She lifts a hand up, placing two fingers right on his forehead. Dean’s eyes roll to the back of his head - all the muscles in his body go slack, hand falling off the edge of the bed. 

He looks dead. Jack looks away, swallowing thickly, nervousness in his stomach. Dean’s alright. He knows this. Jack himself has been in a state of near-death every time he visits the Empty. 

Amara pulls her hand away, and closes her eyes, concentrating. There’s a pulse of power in the room. 

“When they’re done talking, the Empty will push him back into consciousness,” she says, opening her eyes again. “I’ve instructed it to. Don’t worry.”

Jack, and everyone else in the room, nods.

They can only hope it will go well, now, but Jack knows it will. It has to. Like Adam had said, if it’s Sam and Dean asking for it, the universe will do everything in its power to make sure it falls into place. 

The problem lies with everyone else’s missions.

Sam moves to the bed right beside his brother’s, sitting on it and taking a deep breath. 

“Are you ready, Samuel?” Rowena asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” he says, looking down at the ground. He thinks it over for a moment again, before he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. I’ve had powers before, it’ll probably be the same thing. Kinda.”

A pause fills the room. 

Sam lies down.

“Let’s get this over with,” Castiel says, nodding to Amara and Rowena. The Shedim, sitting in the corner of the room, stands and heads over to the door as everyone else in Team A does as well.

Jack moves his chair between Dean and Belphegor’s beds, while Adam moves his between Dean and Sam’s.

“Good luck,” Jack calls out, as Team A starts to leave. 

His father nods. “Keep safe.”

“We’ll try,” Adam says.

The door shuts behind them. Jack hears their footsteps going distant.

His stomach turns, the nervousness in it before that’d started with watching Dean’s body going limp increasing trifold. 

But it’s fine, right? They’re not even trying anything today other than making sure that their plan can go as smoothly as possible. They’re just checking the Cage, making sure the Empty is up to date with what they’re planning, and trying to figure out how much Chuck knows of what they’re doing. 

It’s fine.

Jack looks down at his hands, curled up on his lap, clutching the hem of his shirt if only so that he doesn’t dig his nails into his palms to draw blood. 

He’d pray if he could, in this situation, but the most he can do is just wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me @ me: hey why the fuck are we at twenty six chapters and almost 80k words, what happened to crack fic


	27. Chapter 27

It’s boring. 

Nerve-wracking, but very, very boring. 

Perhaps that’s a good thing though, Adam thinks. They want it to be boring. They need it to be boring, because boring means nothing disastrous happens and things can go smoothly. Boring means no one’s going to pop up to try to kill them while Sam and Dean are unconscious. Boring means that everyone en route to Hell can come back home safe.

So Adam doesn’t complain. He leans his head on the wall instead, watching the clock tick by, scrolling on his phone to see if anything interesting’s come up from the outside world, and watching Jack trying his hardest not to fall asleep. The poor boy looks like he just wants to pass out with how quiet it is.

He has been rather stressed lately. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Adam’s spent enough time around him to tell. 

He’s too young for this whole apocalypse business. He’s a Nephilim, yes, but he’s still entitled to being a child. He’s a fucking toddler in an adult’s body just for his own safety, for fuck’s sake. 

Adam hears said nephilim yawn loudly, while trying not to yawn loudly. Adam laughs quietly, even as Jack gives him a sleepy, half-hearted glare.

“You can sleep,” he says. “I’ll wake you up if something happens.”

“I probably won’t be able to sleep through it if something does happen, anyway,” Jack says. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you need the rest,” he says.

Jack nods. “Thanks,” he says, before he moves so that he can lean his arms on the edge of Belphegor’s bed and rest his head on them. 

His breathing evens out in a few minutes. Adam turns away to stare back at the clock. 

What would he do, once this apocalypse was over?

Start a new life, maybe. Staying in town felt like a good idea, since everyone here already knew about the supernatural, and his wacky little family, so he’d have leg room to stretch. It’d be a good place to take a breather, but knows he doesn’t want to be confined to it either. Maybe he and Michael can stay here for a little while, and then they can travel the world. Maybe he can finish that degree, get a job, come back here for the holidays.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it? They’d have a base of operations that wasn’t underground, with people that knew just how odd the world could be.

It could be like a little sanctuary.

He yawns, realizing that his eyes are drooping and that he too, feels really tired. It’s the stillness of the air. It must be. The weather’s nice, he can hear birds faintly chirping outside, and it’s a quiet, albeit intense day. It’s the perfect time to just lounge around and rest. 

He deserves it too, after these past few days.

Maybe he should get some sleep.

He stretches, feeling his joints and muscles getting relief from being stuck in the same position for the last few hours, and he scoots back on his chair, settling himself into a more comfortable position. He’s not keen on waking up with a crick in his neck. 

He closes his eyes, and immediately feels like something is scratching at the surface of his mind - not unlike that feeling he gets when something is at the tip of his tongue and he knows that he _knows _what it is, but it just won’t come out. He opens his eyes, blearily, like he’s been asleep for a while already when it’s just been a few seconds, wondering why this is. 

The feeling gets more intense, more adamant, and his eyes jolt wide open as a thought violently slams into his head. 

_ **MILLIGAN, WAKE THE FUCK UP!** _

“Wh - “ He looks around, momentarily confused, but realizes the shouting is from the telepathic link as everyone around him is asleep.

_ **DO NOT FALL ASLEEP, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.** _

The voice is familiar. The feeling of the thoughts is familiar, but he can’t pinpoint just exactly who - Sam, Dean and Jack are out, and it doesn’t feel like anyone from the team going to hell, it -

He blinks. _The Shedim?!_

It has to be the Shedim. He’s the only guy in the group Adam hasn’t had the chance to get to know.

But - no, that’s not it. Because it still feels familiar, it still feels like someone he knows, just shouting from a distorted microphone.

_Keep your eyes open, someone’s coming, _the voice says. 

“Who?” Adam says, out loud, if only to keep himself awake by focusing on his words.

_I don’t know, I don’t know their name, _the voice says, frantic. _But I can feel them - Hell can feel them, they’re around here, they’re trying to put you to sleep, I think -_

Adam stands up. He needs water. If it’s cold enough, maybe that’ll help him stay awake. He staggers to his feet, his chair scraping loudly behind him and yet still failing to alert his senses. His eyelids still feel heavy, annoyingly dropping back closed even as he forces them open. 

There’s a mini-fridge in this infirmary. There’s a few sodas there. He knows this because he’s the one who stocked them a few hours ago, when they’d decided he and Jack were on guard duty. 

He takes a step forward, nearly stumbles, and catches himself on the edge of Belphegor’s bed. The bed moves, squeaking as the force of Adam’s fall pushes it sideways. Jack lists back from the sudden movement, and falls to the floor. 

He remains unconscious. 

Panic blooms in Adam’s stomach, but even that feels faint. He’s still sleepy. He’s still tired. It’s like wading around in a fucking dream and his limbs aren’t moving as fast as he wants them to.

_What are you doing?_

“Trying to keep myself awake,” he grits out. “There - some soda in the fridge - “

_You’re thinking about sodas at a time like this?!_

“It’s the cold, asshole!” he says. “Maybe - if I can - “

He hears laughter behind him. He freezes.

_That _sounds familiar too. He can’t place where he’s heard it before, but he knows he has. A jolly, cheerful little laugh from a man that makes him think about fake smiles and the somehow marker-smell of corporate America. 

He turns around, as best as he can.

_“Zachariah?”_

There’s no mistaking it. That _is _Zachariah, in his stupid little suit, with his stupid little smile, standing beside Sam’s bed. 

Adam’s suddenly nineteen again, stuck in a room with some angels wondering if he’s about to make a decision that he’s going to spend the rest of his life regretting; wondering if Sam and Dean would ever come get him because they actually do value him as family, even if he was about to do something really stupid. He’s just dug himself out of his grave again, confused beyond belief but determined that, if the world was going to throw bizarre shit at him, he might as well ask to see the one person he wants to see at the end of the world. 

And - well, he is, physically, still nineteen, but there’s just Cage-related technicalities to take into consideration and all.

“What, your death was greatly exaggerated too?” he slurs out, still keeping his hand on the bed so as not to fall over.

“Oh, no, I was very dead,” Zachariah says. “But you’re not the only ones who can resurrect angels.”

Adam closes his eyes. Chuck.

Fuck.

Zachariah laughs. “What, did you expect that Sam was the only one who could see through the link to our Father?” he asks, with a little titter in his voice that makes Adam want to punch him, but it’s taking all of his effort to even get his eyes open again. “A door goes two ways.”

“What did you do to Jack?” he asks.

Zachariah steps around Sam’s bed, not laying a single finger on him. Adam raises an eyebrow, very slightly. Huh. 

“Nothing, just put him to sleep,” Zachariah says. “I’m not stupid enough to take an archangel-bred Nephilim head on.”

Adam steels his jaw. He’s got no angel blade, so even if he could fight, he couldn’t harm Zachariah. An angel banishing sigil? Could he make one fast enough?

“You, though.” Zachariah frowns, but it’s more in mocking, an expression of amusement on his face. “Somehow, you’ve kept yourself awake.”

_And you’re gonna do your goddamn best to stay awake, _the voice in his head says. _Right now your best bet is to grab Jack and get the fuck out of there._

**What? **He tries his best to think back. **But Sam and Dean - **

_I know! But Jack is a trump card - you think I want to leave your brothers behind? _The voice snaps back. _Listen, the only one of them in danger is Dean, but with him in the Empty, he might have a chance of scraping by alive. This prick can’t hurt Sam, because -_

“A door goes two ways,” Adam blurts out, softly. If Chuck eliminates Chuck, he loses his way of spying into their plans.

“Hmm?” Zachariah looks confused for a moment, but waves it off when Adam doesn’t answer. He raises a hand towards Adam. “Well, no matter. It would have been a lot less unpleasant for you, if you’d been asleep, but if you insist on being awake - ”

_Stall!_

“Michael’s not going to be very happy with you,” Adam says, “He’s rather fond of us.”

A look of annoyance flits past Zachariah’s face. “I’m sure,” he says. “It’s been disappointing to hear.”

“Oh?” Adam straightens up. He ends up looking like a zombie trying their best to stay upright. “I thought it was a rather good step in development. Not everyday you crawl out of Hell with your best friend and find out you have a nephew.”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” Zachariah says. “None of you Winchesters have been able to comprehend divinity, from the very start.”

“Not a Winchester,” Adam bites out.

There’s gotta be something he can do - if he can just write a banishing sigil fast enough…

_Adam, listen, _the voice says, _You have Grace. You’ve used it before. Use it again._

**On small things! Never against a fucking angel! **Adam shoots back as Zachariah does another one of his infuriating laughs.

“By name, maybe,” Zachariah says. “In blood and in action? Most definitely.”

“Oh, yeah? I like to think I’m ten times smarter,” Adam says. 

_You don’t have a choice! It’s archangel Grace anyway!_

**It’s only enough to keep my soul together, not fight people.**

Zachariah barks out a laugh. “Maybe,” he says. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I know Chuck resurrected you,” Adam says. “And I know he probably did that because he knows he can’t keep his focus on more than one thing anymore.”

_Then connect it with your fucking soul then, _the voice throws back.

Adam stills. 

**...what?**

“I’m not exactly impressed,” Zachariah says. “Especially when your attempt at stalling is painfully obvious.”

_Fuck._

**Fuck.**

Zachariah shakes his head. “It’s cute,” he says. “But it gets old fast.”

_Adam -_

**I know. **Adam looks around, his movements slow and sluggish, as he sees Zachariah’s eyes glow.

A high-pitched ringing fills the room. 

_ADAM - _

**I FUCKING KNOW!**

Adam flings a hand out, adrenaline and biology kicking in despite Zachariah influencing him, and he feels energy bursting out of his chest that knocks the wind right out of his lungs. Across him, Zachariah’s eyes widen, concentration breaking, as he’s suddenly thrown back, hitting the door and ripping it off its hinges on his way out.

Adam blinks, the heaviness of his eyelids easing up the second. 

“Shit,” he says. “Did that work?”

_Is Jack awake? _The voice asks. 

Adam looks down. Jack is still sleeping. 

**No, he’s unconscious. **He stands up properly this time, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes.

_I think it’s your Grace, then. _The voice says. 

**I don’t know shit about connecting it to my soul, **he thinks, patting a hand over his chest as he feels his heart skip a beat. This is why he never uses it, whether it be part of his soul now or not. **Shit, I think I overdid it. **

_Connect it to your soul, _the voice says. _Angel Grace can recharge via human soul. That shit doesn’t run out unless it’s being destroyed. It’s the perfect battery for angels. You’ve practically got a built-in generator. _

**I don’t know how! **He snaps. He grabs Jack by the ankles and pulls him aside, setting him by the wall, so that he’s leaning his back on it. 

The boy doesn’t so much as stir.

Adam turns towards the hallway, glaring. He doesn’t know how far back he’s blasted Zachariah, but right now, his fists are itching to beat the bastard’s face in. 

_It’s instinctual! Grace is always instinctual! It’s like being a sorcerer, _the voice says, snapping him back to attention. _It’s the difference between practitioners and supernatural creatures. This shit responds to what you want as long as you really want it. _

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asks, out loud this time because he can’t help it. 

He stands, sparing Belphegor a glance as he does, since he’s already beside his bed. Belphegor, who’s currently slightly frowning a little, like he’s in pain. 

Adam blinks in shock. 

Slowly, the demon’s eyes open, just a crack. Adam can see the irises glowing yellow as they slide over to look at him. 

“It means,” Belphegor rasps out, so softly that Adam doesn’t realize what he’s saying until about a few seconds later. “That it’s like walking and breathing to those who have the universal authority to access it.” 

The demon cracks a small smile. “You’ve used your Grace before. All it takes is to use it differently, but with the same conviction.” His eyes slowly slide shut again. “You fucking dumbass.”

“You - “

But Belphegor’s gone. He’s unconscious again, breathing slowing and evening out almost as soon as he loses consciousness. 

“Belphegor!” 

_Calm the fuck down, idiot, I’m alive, _Belphegor says. _Just bodiless right now._

“What?” 

_It’s kinda cool, _Belphegor says. _I exist as a hivemind, at the moment. I can see and hear everything that Hell has access to. That means the ghosts, the demons, the Shedim - if they’re not fighting me, I mean - the -_

“Oh,” Adam says, interrupting. “That’s how you knew Zachariah was coming.”

_Still looking after you dolts, even when I’m comatose and formless. _Adam imagines the demon shaking his head dramatically. _When will my suffering end?_

“Shut up,” Adam says, relieved. He takes a step back to see down the hallway. The dust is still settling. He can see that there’s a hole in the wall of the room across them, but since that room is empty and the lights are off, he can’t see if he’s destroyed the room behind that too. 

_You shut up, _Belphegor says. _That bastard’s probably getting up. Accept and unify your Grace and your soul._

“Do you have to sound so cheesy all the time?” Adam asks, staring down at his hand. He _has _used Grace before, and he knows how it feels. He knows how easy it is as long as he knows what he wants to do. It _is _instinctual, now that he thinks about it.

But to connect it to his soul…

He’s human, he knows that. He’s always maintained that. Whether or not he was patchwork nephilim or a corrupted human soul never mattered, because he knew that at the end of the day he was human. He had to be human. 

Humanity was normality, for him. It was his life before all this. 

But - 

But maybe sometimes he just had to accept there was no going back anymore. That he _did _go through Hell, for years and years. That his soul was in tatters and he was on the brink of insanity had it not been for the Grace woven into him to keep him alive. That Grace was gifted to him by Michael, and was - _is_ a part of him. 

It didn’t mean he was different, at his core. No, he was still him. 

Just with a few more sparks and lights. 

_I want to protect everyone, _he thinks, and watches in shock as blue light - Grace, he realizes - wraps around his arm, snaking up to his shoulder. It dies down, fading from sight, and then he’s looking at his arm wrapped in sleek, silver armor.

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. 

_What is it?_

“I’ve got, uh, one piece of Exodia,” Adam says. 

_I fucking hate you, _Belphegor says. _Which one?_

“Well, my right arm’s covered in armor right now,” he says. “...do you think I’ve got super strength in this arm?”

_One way to find out, _Belphegor says.

There’s a series of screams across them, faint but loud. Adam’s head snaps up. 

“Right,” he says. He stalks forward, noticing how despite the armor, his arm feels light, like there’s nothing there at all.

He lifts his armored hand and touches the broken concrete, the jagged part where the door had been ripped off earlier. He clenches his hand - the chunk he’d been holding on to crumbles into rubble. 

He watches the debris fall down. He grins. 

“Oh,” he says, laughing. He turns to look at the busted wall across him. “Let’s go beat the shit out of this motherfucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh i nearly forgot to post this because seasonal depression's been making me sleep a lot
> 
> ALSO Adam doesn't get an angel blade bc in this fic I made them manifestations of an angel's Grace (which is why Michael has a sword instead of the usual blade - considering he's squaring off against his dad, it'd be more effective than a shortsword, and he's smart enough to adjust his weapon as so - also it takes into account the blade/sword variation the angels have; I like to think their weapon choice comes down to preference) and I don't think Adam knows how to fight with any sword, so a blade in his hands would be useless against Zachariah, who I assume has had access and training to angel blades his entire existence. Armor, however, would make sense especially if Adam has been in scuffles in his childhood/teen years and knows how to fight with his body instead of a weapon. Adam also has hands, and BY GOLLY THEY WILL BE THROWN


	28. Chapter 28

When Adam was seven, some kid thought it would be a good idea to make like a coming-of-age, high-school-set movie bully and corner him to demand homework answers. It’d confused him then, because he hadn’t really expected this shit to happen in real life, but he had enough sense to say no. The kid had tried to threaten him, and Adam - though much smaller since he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet - barely blinked at the effort. It wasn’t that the kid’s acting was lacking, it was just that Adam already barely blinked at anything that was supposed to be scary, in general. Once you’ve sat in the hospital waiting room because your mother couldn’t afford babysitters all the time and you saw people with life-threatening injuries spilling their blood and guts as they ran inside and screamed for help, there wasn’t much that fazed you, after all.

The kid hadn’t been amused, though, and had promptly shoved him against the locker. 

Adam slammed his head right at the kid’s nose, blood spurting all over his hair and the kid’s shirt, and in the distraction, he’d taken the chance to swing his tiny little fists and land as many hits as he could. 

Being called to the principal’s office and his mother arriving had been a blur, but the car ride home was, and still is, a crystal clear memory to him. 

“He put his hands on you?” his mother had asked, anger simmering underneath her flat tone, but he knew she wasn’t mad at him. She was staring straight ahead at traffic, waiting for the red light to turn green. 

“He shoved me at the locker,” he’d said. 

His mother had nodded. “You punched him?”

“Headbutted him first,” he’d corrected, “Then punched him.”

She’d nodded again. Her grip on the steering wheel had loosened.

“Good,” she’d said, and he’d held his head a little higher the rest of the way home. 

That was the first scuffle he’d ever gotten into, at least from what he remembers. He’s gotten into other, more volatile fights - a few troublemakers in middle school, some drunk guys in high school, the occasional asshole in college who somehow found the time to be a dick in between midterms and plates. 

He’s never fought against the supernatural, though. Not really.

The first time he’d encountered anything out of the ordinary, he’d promptly gotten eaten by a ghoul and died. The second time, he’d gotten resurrected, bossed around and roughed up by a few angels, and then Michael had arrived. The rest of that, well, was a blur of being an archangel’s vessel, the Cage, and Hell springing open. He hadn’t even really fought against the ghosts around them, since he’d spent most of the time either staying behind the barrier, tending to wounds, or hiding inside the school so he wouldn’t get in the way of the Hunters.

He’s the team medic, he thinks. Michael is the strategist, Jack the powerhouse, and Belphegor the weapons genius. He’s the guy who makes sure that everyone else who can’t heal themselves will live long enough so they can be hit with a miracle.

He’s not a fighter, not in the same way Sam and Dean are.

But Sam and Dean are down for the count, worrying about their own assignments right now. Jack is too, and Belphegor’s too weak to offer any physical assistance. 

This is down to him. 

In the back of his head, he’s aware of Castiel and Rowena sending him concerned thoughts, but he assures them that everything is fine, and that he’s taking care of it. He makes sure to tell Castiel that Jack is fine, for the sake of the angel’s nonexistent blood pressure.

_I’ve got a few ghosts in the building, _Belphegor tells him. _They’re trying to look for Zachariah._

“Where is he?” Adam asks, stepping through the large hole on the wall that Zachariah had blasted through. The room is dark, but on the other end, he can make out that _that _wall is broken too. That explosion of Grace had been more powerful than he’d thought. 

He crosses the room, mindful of the mess and the debris, until he gets to the damaged wall. He peeks past it, careful. It leads to the hallway, and across him, another broken wall and a dark room. 

He’s quiet as he makes his way over to the room. There’s no damaged wall on the other end.

Zachariah landed here. 

The lights flicker dangerously, like they’re getting so bright they can’t handle it. 

“Evacuate everyone!” Adam yells. There’s not a lot of people in the school anymore, but there still _are _people, and Adam doesn’t want to know if Zachariah’s going to stoop so low as to take hostages. 

_Got it!_

Adam tries to see if there’s any disturbance in the dust, any indication of where Zachariah’s gotten up and walked away, but he can’t see anything. The bastard probably just flew, but he’s still gotta be at the school. He wouldn’t just let Adam get away so easily.

_He’s in the comms room!_

Adam turns on his heels and bolts.

Dean’s comm room is still in operation, so there’s still people there. They’re Hunters, of course, and they’re armed, but they don’t exactly have access to angel blades like the Winchesters have. Not everybody gets the opportunity to be on Heaven’s bad side, after all. 

He hears a few gunshots, some screams. Adam would _kill _to have wings right now.

_I’m trying to hold him off as much as possible - _Belphegor’s voice sounds strained - _shit, why the fuck are the demons so far away -_

Adam follows the sound of the gunshots, getting louder now, and with one final turn, he sprints down the right hallway and towards the room, the door wide open. 

He sees smears of red on the floor, a couple of feet sticking out from behind some desks, but Adam doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t stop to balk, instead he just lets his rage drive him towards Zachariah, tackling him to the ground from the back. 

The angel immediately pushes off the ground, flipping over and knocking Adam off of him. Adam’s quick to pull a leg up and kick Zachariah’s back when he hits the ground, far too used to rage-filled fights that he knows how to fight quick and dirty. 

Zachariah’s shoved forward. Adam scoots back and gets to his feet. Across him, the angel does the same. 

When he turns, Adam can see the fury in his eyes. His usually pressed suit is rumbled, greyed by the dust from the concrete that had fallen all around him when he’d been blasted back. 

At the sides, Adam can see the Hunters pressed up against the wall, guns trained on Zachariah. There’s a few ghosts milling about, trying to motion to the door.

“Get out,” Adam says, still keeping his eyes on Zachariah. “I’ll take care of this.”

He doesn’t turn his attention away from his enemy, no matter if the Hunters are giving him confused looks, or if they’re staring at the silver armor wrapped around one of his arms. 

Zachariah flicks out a wrist, the glint of an angel blade peeking out his sleeve.

There’s a tense second, two. Neither of them do anything.

Zachariah lunges forward.

He’s fast, deadly fast, but Adam expects as much from a _literal fucking angel. _Adam raises his arms up, the armored one over the unprotected one - and he notices that arm moves a lot lighter and faster now. There’s a loud sound of metal clashing against metal, and swings the armored arm out, relishing in how Zachariah’s pushed back a bit farther than how he would have if Adam hadn’t had Grace armor. 

_“Go!” _Adam yells at the Hunters, and this time they do listen to him, keeping to the walls as they hurry out the room.

Zachariah doesn’t turn to them, though. He only keeps his eyes on Adam, teeth gritted, seething.

“There won’t be any of you left when I’m done with you,” the angel hisses.

“Oh, trust me, I’ll still find a way to haunt your ass,” Adam says, standing a little straighter, since it seems to rankle Zachariah so much. Sure enough, the lights above them flicker again.

Zachariah flings his free hand out, and Adam feels as if someone’s just punched his chest. There’s a sudden weight all over him - save for his armored hand, he realizes - and then he’s suddenly flying backwards and crashing into a table. 

He coughs, weakly, trying to blink out the blurriness in his vision.

Fuck. He’d forgotten angels could do that. 

_Adam!_

_**I got it, I got it, **_he thinks, but his body hurts too much to move right now. 

He frowns. He’s sturdier than most people, with the Grace and all. He should be able to get up. 

He moves his armored arm, which is the only part of him he can feel without any pain, and uses it to push himself up to his feet. 

Zachariah is stalking towards him, smiling, angel blade glinting dangerously in hand. 

“Don’t get so cocky just because you have Grace now, kid,” he says, “You’re just another shitstain we have to wipe off the universe.”

Adam’s legs are shaking. He’s alive, he’s okay, which is already a lot to ask for considering his spine just got slammed onto a table, but he’s gotta be able to move faster and better if he’s going to defend himself from being stabbed. 

He glares at Zachariah, shifting his weight backwards. 

There’s gotta be something he can do. Zachariah gets telekinesis powers from his Grace, where’s Adam’s?

He tries to concentrate, tries to will it as much as he can, but nothing’s happening.

Shit, shit, shit. 

The angel stands in front of him now, the grin on his face infuriating. 

“You got quiet,” Zachariah says.

“Just got so many ideas on what to say to you that I can’t choose,” Adam says, shooting back his best winning smile. 

There’s gotta be a way to defend himself. He needs to defend himself. There’s gotta be a way to use this armor somehow, but if he moves his hand, he’ll just collapse on his feet, and he’d still be stabbed anyway, because he’s not sure he can move _that _fast when Zachariah is too close.

Zachariah scoffs. “Winchesters,” he says, disdainfully. 

Adam presses his lips to a thin line. 

The angel moves his arm, angel blade catching the light of the fluorescent above them.

Adam squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the feeling of pain blossoming in his chest - 

And finds nothing. He wonders, idly, if he’s already in so much pain he can’t even tell anything apart. But he is aware that something’s just clanged against him, so he opens his eyes, by just a crack.

He’s wearing a chest plate.

“What the fuck - “

Even Zachariah looks surprised, staring at the silver armor. Adam notices that his uninjured arm feels a little strained now, tired of holding his body weight, and it’s no longer wrapped in the armor it was in seconds before.

Wait, did the - 

Zachariah pulls his hand back and jabs it forward again, aiming between Adam’s eyes this time. Adam leans back on instinct and nearly screams when he feels something wrap around his head, darkness suddenly swallowing him. 

He watches the angel blade hit the glass of the visor of the helmet he’s now suddenly wearing. 

What the fuck. 

_It’s moving! _Belphegor says. Adam’s about to ask how the fuck he knows what’s going on before realizing his panic must have pushed everything down the telepathic link. In fact, he’s mildly aware of Castiel once again sending concern his way at the edges of his consciousness. 

_The armor is moving._

_ **How the fuck is it moving -** _

_You wanted to protect yourself, _Belphegor says. _Now it’s doing just that._

The angel blade is withdrawn, suddenly. Through the visor, Adam can see Zachariah’s frustration. 

_Adam, _Belphegor says. _Use your imagination._

_ **What?** _

_Your Grace is responsive. Use that to your advantage. Use your imagination._

Zachariah’s frown is back now. 

“Party tricks,” he mutters, more to himself than to Adam. He clenches the angel blade in his hand, and Adam sees it glow slightly, stretching itself out so the blade is longer, the edges serrated. 

“You hold one hell of a grudge,” Adam says. 

“Only to those deserving.”

Zachariah stabs at him again.

Adam yelps, taking a step back and his knee buckling under him, but he holds his hands out, mostly out of impulse like that’s going to stop the sword from sinking into his flesh. The shadow over his head moves, lightning fast that Adam has to shut his eyes from the sudden brightness, and then he’s aware of the weight his hands are holding. There’s another metal _clang, _and then a scream of frustration from Zachariah. Adam opens his eyes despite the light. 

He’s got a shield. 

_**I need a weapon NOW, **_he thinks, and his hands are already adjusting to hold the weight of exactly what he’s thinking as the shield folds in on itself and changes. He’s holding a flare gun, suddenly, just as his hands meet to hold it, and he squeezes the trigger.

He shuts his eyes again at the sudden bright light, hearing Zachariah scream in surprise and pain and he’s blasted back by a holy flare.

_That’s one way around it, _Belphegor thinks.

Adam doesn’t get to respond as Zachariah’s launching himself at Adam again, a livid yell tearing out of his throat. Adam lets his knees buckle fully this time, dropping down to the floor, and shoots the flare at Zachariah’s stomach. It hits true, and the angel keels over. Adam dives out of his kneeling position and rolls on his back once, landing past Zachariah and effectively out of the corner he’d been placed in. 

_ **Shield!** _

The flare gun responds accordingly, melting in on itself and returning to its previous form of a circular shield that Adam raises to block Zachariah’s sword. As he’s still crouching, he kicks a leg out and hits Zachariah’s foot, thrusting his shield upwards so it slams into the angel’s face as he falls.

Zachariah topples back and Adam hurriedly scrambles backwards, breathing hard as his chest tightens. He’s been holding his breath. 

Zachariah’s nose is bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to notice, the red spilling down onto his mouth and his teeth, dripping down his chin.

_The disadvantage of Heaven and Hell is that they’re far too used to not thinking for themselves, _Belphegor tells him. _They’re used to getting orders, and they’re used to underestimating everyone around them. Humans have lived in an environment of possibility their whole lives. _

_**That’s why you love it here, **_Adam thinks back, although half of his attention is making sure he doesn’t trip on his feet as he stares Zachariah down.

_It’s why any of us do, _Belphegor says. _But that’s not the point here. The point is...your strongest card is keeping a clear head so you can think your way through this. You’re on the right track. _

_**Thanks, **_Adam says. _**I still feel like I’m going to die.**_

_I will kill you myself if you do, _Belphegor says. 

He’s been doing well so far, thinking on his feet, but the panic’s threatening to shut him down right now. The man across him looks ready to tear his neck out by his own teeth. 

Adam eyes his angel blade.

Wait a second. 

“What?” Adam asks, pitching his tone to be haughty. “Ran out of shit to talk?”

If it were possible, Zachariah’s eyes would have bulged out in his fury. As it is, the angel only lets out another guttural yell, enough to freeze Adam in place from the pure hatred in it. 

_MILLIGAN!_

Adam snaps to attention, just as Zachariah lunges forward, angel blade warping itself into a longsword this time, gleaming silver with power. Adam takes a step back, quickly, to steady his stance as he holds his shield up. 

The sword is thrust towards it. The metal of the shield bends, suddenly, melting and liquifying as it takes on a new form and - 

The teeth of the newly-formed bear trap clamp onto Zachariah’s hand. 

Adam sucks in a gasp as he looks down at the sword that’s sticking out of his stomach. The length of it had been enough to reach him - that was why Zachariah had changed it at the last second, _fuck - _that a few inches of it has buried itself into his flesh. His hands are shaking, holding onto the bear trap that his Grace armor has turned into. Zachariah’s wrist and forearm are trapped within its teeth, in a way that if Adam pulled, the whole thing would just rip off of his arm. There’s blood all over the floor.

An amused noise comes from Zachariah. Adam looks up to see the smile on the angel’s face.

He grits his teeth. It’s not over yet.

“What now, Winchester?” he asks. “A little vessel damage isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Perhaps,” Adam says, and he’s proud of how his voice doesn't shake. It must be the spite. He grins. “But this might.”

The bear trap morphs under his hands, melting once again before either of them can even blink, and Adam moves, fingers already curling as the light snakes its way back up to wrap around his arm.

With the distance between him and the angel forced near due to the bear trap catching the angel’s hand earlier, Adam raises his armored arm back, and with a yell, punches straight through Zachariah’s chest. 

The angel can only look down in shock for a second, before he erupts in a blast of Grace and light.

Adam grunts once he’s able to open his eyes, having closed them again due to the searing brightness. He’s gonna need to make sure he doesn’t have permanent eye injuries after this. 

He pulls his arm out of the angel’s chest, blood and gore splattered all over the once-silver armor. His vision blurs for a moment and in his distraction, he notices the armor disappearing, the blood all over it falling to the floor as it dissipates into nothing. 

Huh. Maybe he’s not strong enough for the Grace to have a permanent tangible form or something. 

He lifts his head, looking at the marks of angel wings scorched all over the walls.

“Heh,” he says. “How do you like me now...asshole…”

And with that, Adam’s legs give up on him, and he falls on his back, going out like a light.


	29. Chapter 29

Jack’s head is pounding when he opens his eyes.

Which is enough to alarm him straight into alertness, because the last thing he remembers is falling asleep in his chair, a calm enough memory that doesn’t warrant waking up on the floor, back propped on a wall, feeling like something sharp is being dragged out of his skull.

He puts a hand on the wall behind him and pushes himself up.

The infirmary is a wreck. Dean, Sam and Belphegor appeared to have slept through whatever’s happened - himself too, somehow - but Belphegor’s bed has been pushed aside slightly, there’s dust all over the place, and there’s a huge jagged hole where the door used to be.

There’s the stench of Grace in the air, smelling like ozone and burning wood.

Although that might just be the smell of property damage.

He runs out of the room. The wreckage extends there as well, with the wall across him also busted through, like whatever had blasted through the door had hit that, and every other succeeding wall behind it. Several lights in the hallway are blown out, and the damaged rooms themselves are dark.

To his right, there’s the sound of running, and a couple of shouts.

Jack turns. There’s a crowd hurriedly pushing several gurneys down the corridor.

He takes a step back, getting out of the way as they rush the wounded into the infirmary. To their credit, they take the damaged doorway in stride and pay it no mind, focusing on getting everyone they can inside, and making room.

“What’s going on?” he asks. Aside from the people on the gurneys, there’s a couple of other injured hunters trying to hobble their way into the infirmary - broken arms, broken legs, some wounds still steadily gushing out blood from their torsos. It’s the aftermath of a fight.

Thankfully someone answers him, letting go of the gurney she’d been helping push so that it can fit through the door as the remaining others let it through. “We got attacked.”

“By what?’

The hunter’s eyes darken. “An angel.”

Jack’s blood turns cold.

They can’t have lost Heaven, can they? There were already few angels enough as it is, they’d been sure that they’d have to sit the whole thing out if their numbers stayed the same. That was the whole point of trying to get angels revived in the first place, so they had more fighters on their side without completely collapsing Heaven.

...did Dean succeed and an angel already turned against them?

But that wouldn’t make any sense. The plan was to revive angels who they knew would help them. Dean wouldn’t just get the Empty to send back everyone carelessly.

“We’re gonna need a blood transfusion!” someone yells down the hallway.

At the sound of the voice, Jack turns, and he pales as he sees who’s on the gurney.

“Adam!”

The young man is unconscious, dust and blood smeared all over his skin and clothes. There’s a dark stain all over his stomach, a large sword sticking out of his torso.

“Step aside,” the hunter beside him says, gently pushing him back so the gurney can get through.

“What the hell happened?” he asks.

“He saved us,” the hunter says. “I don’t know how - I still don’t understand what the fuck happened, but he did it, somehow.”

Through the doorway, Jack sees the hunters pushing aside the occupied beds and loading the unconscious injured onto the empty ones. When they see that there’s barely enough beds, they let the injured stay on the gurneys instead.

“Okay, everyone who’s not bed-bound - we’re gonna need you to be in the other empty rooms, we need this space - “

A few other injured hunters begin their way out, assisted by their unharmed friends.

Jack snaps out of his shock as he realizes what’s happening.

“Wait - wait!” he says. “I can help. I can heal them.”

“Get the fuck in here, then, kid!” someone from inside the infirmary yells, and Jack rushes in.

He goes to Adam’s side first. Someone’s already taken the sword out of his stomach and is currently cutting his shirt open to get to the wound.

“Can you deal with this?” the hunter asks.

“Yeah,” Jack says, wasting no time in hovering a hand over Adam’s wound. Slowly, the skin and muscle start to knit themselves back into place, until there’s nothing but unmarred flesh underneath all the blood. The bruises and cuts all over Adam disappear after it.

“Good job,” someone says, gently patting Jack’s shoulder. A memory from his time in the alternate universe comes back to him, and his breath catches for a moment. “Help us out here, we’ve got a couple more.”

“Of course,” Jack says, stepping back. He turns to the next bed.

It’s going to be a long day.

* * *

A hunter (her name is Marge, he learns) hands him a bottle of water. He takes it, giving her a soft, “Thank you,” and she nods and continues to hand out water to the rest of her colleagues.

Everyone’s patched up now. A few are still unconscious - Adam included - but they’re all fine.

There’s a couple who didn’t make it, sadly, the ones who’d died instantly during the attack before Adam had managed to get there. That’s where the other hunters are headed now, to burn their dead and send them off in a proper hunter funeral.

Jack stares down at his shoes.

He’d done his best. He knows this. Something had happened and that was why he’d been unconscious. He’d done his best the second he’d woken up, and they have a lot less casualties for it.

Still.

He takes a sip of the water and places it on the desk beside him. After a moment, he puts his head in his hands.

Things are already going so wrong. They’d expected an attack, yes, that was why he and Adam had been stationed with Sam and Dean in the first place, but they were hoping it wasn’t going to come to that. It wasn’t supposed to come to that, it was only supposed to be a day of gathering intel, gathering the pieces of their plan, not...this.

He feels his father’s thoughts gently hovering in the corner of his mind.

_I got knocked out, somewhat, _he thinks to Castiel. _Adam had to save everyone._

_**Is he okay? **_Castiel asks him.

_He’s okay. He’s alive. He took a sword to the gut, though._

_ **It was Zachariah, correct?** _

Jack frowns. _Who?_

_**Ah - I forget you weren’t around for that, **_his father says. _**An old...enemy. A dead one, at least before Chuck revived him for this.**_

Jack sits up straight. “What?!”

_**Apparently, he was revived to put a stop to this operation, or, at least your end of it. We’ve been on high alert, **_Castiel says. _**We’re still making our way to the Cage. It’s farther away than any other place here.**_

_Are you almost there?_

_**The Shedim says we’re closer than we were before, certainly, **_Castiel says.

_That’s good._

A pause.

_ **Jack.** _

_Yes?_

_ **Are you alright?** _

Jack takes in a breath, slowly. He slumps in his seat.

_No._

The warmth and heartbreak that floods into his mind the second his father hears him is enough to make him put his face in his hands again, trying his hardest not to make any noise as tears stream down his cheeks. There’s still other hunters here, checking on their friends before they join the rest for the funerals. Jack pulls his feet up to the seat, hiding his face between his knees, just so nobody bothers him.

_**Oh, Jack, **_Castiel says, compassion woven into every part of the thought.

_I was supposed to protect everyone, _Jack says. _That was why I was put here with Adam. It was __me__ who was supposed to fight. Now people are hurt and dead._

_**You were knocked out, **_Castiel says. _**We are all fallible, Jack.**_

_But when _ _I_ _ mess up, people die!_

He remembers the apocalypse world. He remembers everyone putting him in front of the lines, because he could take down angels faster than anyone could. He remembers immediately being ushered to the infirmary tents after battles, to heal the wounds of the people he couldn’t protect while out on the field when he was supposed to because that was the point of being at the front of the lines. He remembers corpses being burned, people being laid to rest, because he either hadn’t been strong enough, or had been too late, or had been too tired to muster up enough Grace for something.

He remembers Mary, who practically raised him in that apocalypse world. He remembers killing her with a single touch.

_ **Jack -** _

“It’s my fault,” he murmurs.

_ **Jack!** _

The sternness in Castiel’s voice makes him freeze. Then, right after, comfort flits into his mind, gentle. Compassion. Love. It feels almost like a hug.

_**You are a child, **_he says. _**War is not your responsibility. You had been thrust into a circumstance outside of your control, and you tried your best to help. That’s it.**_

_What about Mary?_

_**That was wrong, yes, but it had also been an accident, **_Castiel says. _**You tried to make amends as best as you could. You still are. You’ve kept your powers in check and have been trying to help people and I am very proud of you.**_

Jack feels his shoulders shaking.

_**From the very moment of your conception, there has been so much put on your shoulders, **_his father says. He feels regret in the words. _**And I am ashamed to say that I’ve been complicit in placing that on you too. Forgive me for not realizing it sooner.**_

_What are you talking about?_

_**I believed that you would change the world, **_he says, _**Your mother believed it. So did I. But, Jack - there is time to save the world, and there is time to simply live. You are a child, and I had no right to expect you to be a warrior, or whatever messiah this world needed.**_

Had he been pressured? He doesn’t know. He can’t tell. His life has just been a series of events one after the other, and while he’s tried his best to understand it, it feels more like he’s just been stumbling through everything either through coincidence or sheer luck.

_**You shouldn’t have had to carry that burden, **_Castiel says. _**You shouldn’t have had to disguise yourself as an adult to survive, or learn to be a grown up incredibly quick to survive.**_

_But I can help, _Jack says. _I can._

_**That may be so, but it doesn’t mean the weight of the whole world should be put on your hands, **_Castiel says. _**You are a mere boy. You make mistakes, you are not perfect, and we should never expect you to fix or solve everything on your own. We should never put the burden on you in the first place. But with your circumstances, you have done so much, and Jack - that is enough. The effort is enough. Your best is enough.**_

Jack thinks it over. He doesn’t get it, not really, but maybe this is one of these things he wouldn’t understand until later. Adam had told him stories once, that sometimes he’d learn about things when he was younger, and only understood it at surface level. He never grasped the depth of it until he’d gotten older, he’d said. Maybe this is one of those, where he’ll realize something from a new lens and understanding as he grows.

_**You’ve done very well, Jack. Do not blame yourself for circumstances you can’t control, **_Castiel says. _**You’ve done your part. Do you understand?**_

Not really, but he gets what his father is saying. He couldn’t help being knocked out. He couldn’t possibly save everyone back at the apocalypse world even with his powers, but he’d healed up everyone he could, both there and here. He’d protected everyone he could whenever given the chance.

_Yeah, _he says. _I do._

_**Very good. **_There’s that burst of warmth again. _**And Jack?**_

_Yes?_

_ **You don’t have to change the world.** _

Jack smiles. He wipes the tears away from his eyes, as discreetly as he can. This, he understands.

_Thanks, dad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the new ep and this chap synchronized in bullying jack i -


	30. Chapter 30

Belphegor stares at the mass of nothing right in front of him. Well, the Shedim does. He stays in the backseat and peers through its eyes. 

It’s a little weird - he’s gotten so used to having his own (albeit stolen) body that it feels like he’s playing a game in first person, seeing the world and interacting with it but knowing it’s not truly his body, or his world - that experience of being just slightly removed from everything and rends what he’s seeing as surreal. 

Maybe that’s for the best, though. They could use it to their advantage. If, to everyone except Adam, he’s out of the picture, they may be able to blindside anyone else who’ll try to attack them. Adam himself’s passed out, but judging by Jack’s own input from the telepathic link, he’s healed up and fine, just asleep. No one else knows Belphegor’s alright and in a hivemind, so they’ll have the element of surprise if they need it. 

Belphegor may be a coward, but he’s no fool.

“This is it?” Rowena asks.

“Yes,” the Shedim says. “The Cage.”

“Or what we can make of it, anyway,” Castiel says. A weird look crosses his face. Belphegor recalls a story that had gone around Hell eons ago, that he’d attempted to raise Sam Winchester out of the Cage and only grabbed his body but left his soul. He hadn’t believed it for a second.

Knowing Team Free Will now, though.

“Huh,” Rowena says. “A lot... _ Emptier _ than I thought it would be.”

Amara snorts. 

In front of them is a blank sheet of nothing. Not an empty space in Hell, no, but a huge canvas of pure empty, like someone had shot the Haxon ring at the whole thing and now there was a whole lot of nothing where everything should have been.

Just pure empty blackness like someone had ripped the picture of reality open. 

“A little unnerving to view the plane you exist in like a magazine with a torn page,” Rowena says. 

“It’s unfortunate,” the Shedim says. 

“I imagine we won’t be able to enter there without tearing ourselves to shreds?” Rowena asks. “Or at least,  _ me.” _

“There’s an entrance somewhere,” the Shedim says. “But it’s not here.”

Adam and Michael had to have crawled out somewhere, after all. 

Before they can turn back and try to find another way, though, Amara steps forward. Belphegor feels the Shedim’s intrigue as he watches her approach the patch of emptiness and lift a hand towards it. Even Rowena says nothing. Castiel just watches, an eyebrow raised.

Her fingertips graze it. Slowly, she reaches further, until her entire hand has been swallowed up by the empty patch. 

Nothing happens. 

“Hm. Well, I’ll be able to enter here,” Amara says. “And I imagine my brother would be able to, as well.”

“That’s curious,” Rowena says. “That’s  _ your  _ Empty, isn’t it?”

Amara nods. “If he didn’t write out the Empty, I imagine he took some of its actual composition and put it here, for Lucifer’s Cage.”

“Funny man,” Rowena says, chuckling. Amara cracks a smile. 

“If he’s able to enter freely then all we need to figure out is how to get him here in the first place,” Castiel says. 

“And all the angels that we’ll have with us,” Amara says. 

Belphegor knows she’ll probably be able to defeat him, but they can’t trust Chuck to not play dirty. He knows his sister is on their side. If he knows to send Zachariah, he knows exactly what they’re planning, and he’s not going to plan his own retaliation without taking into account Amara’s involvement. They’re not about to fuck this up royally by foregoing the backup. 

“If we can somehow get Michael back to us - or to the Cage, we might be able to lure him there,” Rowena says. She purses her lips. “But I doubt he’d be stupid enough to do that.”

“That is true,” Castiel says.

They have to be able to do something with that. And Belphegor might be able to orchestrate something with that. Michael’s not with them, so if he can send a discreet message, Chuck won’t have any way of knowing by spying through Sam.

He feels the Shedim send him a burst of irritation. He tries to send back the image of a cheeky grin, as best as he can.

_ It’s either we work together, or we both die,  _ Belphegor thinks.

** _I get it, but it doesn’t mean I hate you less, _ ** the Shedim thinks. 

_ Sure thing, you can hunt me down after the apocalypse ends or something.  _

** _Doubt that’ll be in my options, but thanks for lying. _ **

Belphegor doesn’t say anything. He knows the rest of the group plan on slamming the Shedim back down into Hell after this. Of course he does, he’s not fucking stupid. He doesn’t know what the Shedim are planning, doesn’t even know if they’d tried to negotiate in good faith, but he knows they’re not going to be allowed to walk the earth free. 

Belphegor thinks of the sunlight, of the little town that’s now packed with ghosts just standing around, all under his control. He knows how some of the kids have taken to trying to see just how corporeal they are, and how a good chunk of them have taken interest in the supernatural in both the ‘I need to know how to protect myself’ and ‘This is interesting’ sense. He knows if there’s anywhere on Earth he can stay, it’ll be there.

The Shedim’s thoughts are bitter.

“Can this Empty and the actual Empty be linked?” Belphegor asks, steering his thoughts away from that and commandeering the Shedim’s body. It lets him, strangely resigned. Guilt wells up in his chest. 

Amara looks thoughtful for a moment. “If they’re cut from the same mass, yes. Although, perhaps Chuck just replicated it.”

“Can you tell?”

“I can try,” Amara says. “My brother is childish, but he’s still smart. And still a perfectionist.”

“Oh, definitely,” Belphegor says, as he runs through their options of luring Chuck. If Michael can catch Chuck off-guard, he’ll probably be able to drag him into the Cage. If Chuck gets close enough and Michael moves faster, he can fly into the Cage and they can slam it close, and Amara will be waiting. They just have to time it well. 

And they have to make sure Chuck doesn’t know. Again. 

It’s been a long game of just trying to hide things from him, hasn’t it?

_ One of your siblings is still near Michael, right?  _ Belphegor asks. 

** _You’ve asked us to keep an eye on him, yes._ **

_ Send him that message for me? _

There’s a tickle of amusement from the Shedim.  ** _You’re asking nicely?_ **

_ I imagine this isn’t pleasant for any of you. I apologize. _

Silence. 

** _First time I’ve ever heard that from anyone in my existence, _ ** the Shedim says, after a while.  ** _Clarify the message._ **

_ We’re planning on luring Chuck to the Cage. Tell Michael if he has any ideas to do that, then send a message back with the other Shedim. If he doesn’t, ask him if he can let Chuck get close enough, grab him, and then pull him with him into the Cage as he flies in.  _

** _You’ll need to coordinate when that will happen if you plan to slam the Cage closed. _ **

Belphegor thinks about the bingo card, tucked into the back pocket of the Shedim’s jeans. He’d asked the demon to fish it out of his unconscious body hours before. He’d been planning on using that to help him save Michael but…

_ We used to have our own mind link,  _ Belphegor says.  _ When he’s in range, he can send in a quick message, and I can take care of it. _

** _You’re not going to tell the others?_ **

_ I want to,  _ Belphegor says.  _ But Chuck’s using Sam as a spy. _

** _You’re putting yourself on the bus again?_ **

Belphegor smiles wryly.  _ I’ll let them yell at me if it means we save the world. _

** _You’re really committing to the role, huh? _ ** The Shedim asks.  ** _You’ve gotten attached to the world._ **

_ No, I’ve gotten attached to existing. Chuck’s gonna wipe everything clean if he wins, we know this,  _ Belphegor says.  _ And I mean, the world isn’t too bad. _

** _Hm, _ ** the Shedim says.  ** _I wouldn’t know._ **

_ ...yeah? _

** _You were an angel before you were a demon, _ ** the Shedim says.  ** _We have only ever been the Shedim. _ **

That means - 

Presence of mind slipping for a moment, Belphegor puts a hand to his mouth - or, well, it looks like the Shedim puts a hand to his mouth, an expression of shock flitting about his face.

“Something wrong?” Rowena asks, noticing. 

“They’ve been attacked,” Belphegor says, thinking quickly. “The B Team, I mean.”

“Ah,” Rowena says, looking unsurprised. Still, she does him the courtesy of saying, “That’s what that was.”

Castiel frowns in concern. “So it seems.”

“It seems like it worked out,” Amara says. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but, it’s calmed down, somewhat.”

Belphegor doesn’t tell them it’s because Adam’s passed out. Castiel is deep in thought, though, quiet. Maybe he’s talking to Jack. Belphegor’d thought he’d felt a few pangs of worry from the boy earlier. 

“Well, the Cage is intact, from what we can tell,” Rowena says. “We can report that back.”

Amara nods, although she still hasn’t taken her hand out of the Cage’s nothing. A frown marrs her expression as she concentrates on something.

“Amara?” Rowena asks.

“I’m trying to figure out if this is the same Empty I’ve given to this universe, or one synthesized by my brother,” she says. “And it seems to be but…”

“But?”

Amara’s frown deepens. She stares at the nothing in front of her, which doesn’t seem to be doing anything.

Belphegor feels his control be wrenched away from him as the Shedim shoves him back. The demon takes several steps backwards, away from the Cage.

_ What are you -  _

The ground begins to shake. Amara pulls her hand away from the Cage, sharing a look with Rowena. Castiel steps forward their team protectively, angel blade already at the ready. 

“Amara,” he says, and Amara nods and makes her way back to the group as Hell begins to shake. 

That’s not supposed to happen. 

It  _ shouldn’t  _ happen. Hell doesn’t get  _ earthquakes.  _

** _Yeah, duh, I doubt this place has fault lines, _ ** the Shedim says. 

_ Oh, shut the fuck up,  _ Belphegor says.  _ What is it? _

** _Bad news, _ ** the Shedim says.  ** _I can smell their kind from miles away._ **

Belphegor only takes a second to know exactly what he’s talking about. 

Unfortunately, within that second, a mass of bodies burst forth from the empty of the Cage, angelic light bright and gleaming, as the once-dead of the Heavenly Hosts advance towards them, swords at the ready. 

Belphegor feels himself trying to curl up inside the Shedim’s head, cursing the fact that he can’t physically run since the demon just stands there, watching everything happen. 

_ Son of -  _

* * *

In the infirmary, Dean Winchester sits up, eyes wide and frantic like he’s just woken up from a nightmare. His voice cuts through the silence of the room, startling everyone within hearing radius.

_ “Son of a bitch!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love how canon validated my take of amara still attached to chuck despite it all
> 
> also, me, shaking castiel by the lapels: RESET THE UNIVERSE, MAN. DO IT. JUST DO IT


	31. Chapter 31

“Dean?” Jack, who’d been nearly dozing off in his chair after he’d exhausted himself from crying, uncurls from his position at the sound of Dean’s shout.

The man’s already stumbling out of bed, only giving the scene in the infirmary a glance before he mutters, _“Shit,” _and storms out of the room. Jack gets up to trail after him.

“What happened?” Jack asks.

“Chuck,” Dean spits out, livid. He pauses at the sight of the rubble outside of the infirmary. “What the fuck happened here?”

“Zachariah,” Jack says.

“You fought him?”

“Adam did.”

“Adam - “ Dean steps back into the room, Jack stepping aside to let him. The sight of his youngest brother laid out on one of the beds darkens something in his gaze. If he wasn’t already angry, he is now.

“He won,” Jack offers.

Dean grunts, and then turns away to continue to wherever he’d been planning to get to. Jack follows after him.

“The Empty agreed to help us and resurrect our allies,” Dean says. “But while we were negotiating, we got interrupted.”

“By Chuck?”

“He resurrected all of them,” Dean says.

Jack stops in his tracks. “All the angels?”

“And then some, I think,” Dean says, stopping to accommodate him. “The Empty was _furious, _but it’s not like it can do anything against Chuck. It sent me back.”

Jack nods, already communicating the information to Castiel and everyone else, in case Dean hasn’t yet. There’s several bursts of panic and one resigned train of thought from the other end.

“What are we doing?” Jack asks.

“We’re calling everyone in town back in,” Dean says. “No doubt Chuck’s going to target us, and if we let everyone stay outside, they’re either going to take people hostage or slaughter everyone in town. We’ll fortify the school.”

It’s not going to be enough, Jack knows. A couple of hunters against the entirety of the Heavenly Hosts, it’s not going to be enough.

But what choice do they have?

“I’ll help,” Jack says.

Dean nods. “I’m headed to the comms room,” he says, turning to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m gonna need you to gather all the volunteers and get them to the gym, after that, I’m sending hunters to ward the area and guard it. You’re going to stay there and protect the civilians, alright?”

“Alright,” Jack says.

Dean squeezes his shoulder. He seems to pause, suddenly, like he’s listening to something.

Then he pulls Jack in for a hug. The boy can only stand there in shock, before he realizes what’s happening and wraps his arms around Dean.

“Sorry about this, kid,” Dean says.

“It’s okay,” Jack says. “Shit happens.”

Dean laughs. “That it does,” he says, pulling away. He pats Jack’s shoulder one last time. “Be careful.”

“You too,” he says, and with that, Dean rushes off to the comms room, while Jack heads for the kitchen, where he knows most of the volunteers are.

They’ve got another siege to live through.

* * *

_“Chuck sabotaged the angel plan?!” _Belphegor screeches through the Shedim’s lungs, even as the Shedim pilots the body, swatting away angels with the wave of a hand and ducking past swords being slashed about.

“So it seems,” Castiel says, shoving an angel off of him and stabbing his attacker through the chest, a brief flash of light erupting from them.

“Samuel,” Rowena says, coming to the same conclusion as everyone else even though none of them have had the time to talk about it. If Sam can see Chuck’s thoughts, then it’s not farfetched for Chuck to know Sam’s.

The Shedim ducks as a blast of energy ripples from Amara throughout the rest of the cavern they’re in. It bowls over several angels, but more of them are coming forth from the Cage - or, well, the Empty of the Cage. Apparently, the Empty-as-the-afterlife and the Empty-as-the-Cage _can _be connected, then.

Belphegor forces the body to look at Amara, at the displeased look on her face. She can’t go all-out here, not when there’s three of her teammates with her.

They need to bring this fight to the Cage. And they need to drag Chuck along with them.

_**We’re already talking to Michael, if you’re in a hurry, **_the Shedim tells him.

_Great, thank you, _Belphegor says.

The Shedim ducks from an angel’s attempted swipe and tackles said angel’s torso, driving them to the ground. Quickly, the demon pushes himself off of them and bites into the angel’s throat, tearing a huge chunk of it off as he violently pulls away.

Belphegor watches as the torn flesh - the area that’s been bitten - starts to bubble and blacken like boiling tar. The angel’s eyes flash blue, not in power but in pain, and they start to claw at their mangled throat.

_Do you have to be so violent? _Belphegor asks.

_**You’re asking me that while we’re under attack? **_The Shedim lifts himself up to a crouch, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _**You got any plans, genius?**_

_Just tell me when Michael’s done his part, _Belphegor says. _And tell him to alert me if he’s dragged his father to the Cage._

_**Alright, **_the Shedim says. It stands, immediately stepping to the side to avoid getting stabbed in the face. It catches the angel’s arm and bends it back where it’s not supposed to be bent with a sick _crack._

If they can just time it right, they can trap Chuck into the Cage. Fuck the plans. Chuck’s already thrown them to the wind - they’ll just have an impromptu beatdown and deal with everything.

And they have to win. They can’t _not _win.

They don’t have a choice.

But if Belphegor’s not fast enough, then they could fail. The Cage could be closed with Chuck outside, and then he’s not going to have an immediate solution to try to shove him in there and close it again. No, the safest way for this to go is to close the Cage while Chuck is distracted.

But that would mean either Michael or Amara has to be stuck in there with him.

Come on, Belphegor, _think._

Someone manages to land a punch to the Shedim’s face, snapping his neck to the side. The demon snaps it right back into place with a low growl.

As the fight goes on, Belphegor continues to observe the scene through the Shedim’s eyes. There’s blood and limbs flying all over the place, pulses of light from when an angel is killed, a couple of blasts of purple from Rowena’s magic, puffs of black smoke when Amara exterminates -

_Amara!_

She’d been powerful enough to bring back Mary Winchester, if Belphegor remembers correctly. She’d be able to yank anyone who’s trapped in the Cage out.

_Hey, _Belphegor tells the Shedim. _If you can, get me to a clear area._

_ **What?** _

_Once Michael drags Chuck into the Cage, I’ll close it, _Belphegor says. _And then, I’ll have Amara yank him out._

_**Gotcha, **_the Shedim says, and immediately starts bodily plowing through the sea of angels, easily throwing everyone trying to cling to it aside like a bunch of mannequins. There’s a couple of boulders to the side of the cavern. If they can get as high up as they can when Michael arrives, they can use the bingo card to close the Cage. Afterwards, they can all retreat, and Amara can grab Michael, and they can deal with whatever’s going on topside.

An angel with a longsword and a shield stands in their way. The Shedim deftly sidesteps the sword, catching the blade in his hand. Its edge cuts into his palm. Belphegor sees the smoke rising from the demon’s hand as the holy blade starts to burn it, but the demon only bares his teeth and bashes his head right into the angel’s.

The angel stumbles back, bringing the sword with him, and the Shedim immediately darts forward, jumping up, landing on the shield as it starts to be tilted upward as the angel falls, and uses it as a launching pad to get to the boulders behind his attacker.

_Madman! _Belphegor yells. _Your hand!_

_**We got where we needed to be, right? **_The demon sounds amused. _**You know if you were less of a coward, you could have done that too?**_

_No, I have something called a self-preservation instinct, _he says. _Just because a sword to a hand wouldn’t kill me doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt._

_ **Shut up, you little fucking baby, no wonder a ghost can cut you up and you’d cry.** _

_Hey!_

The Shedim stands, careful to keep his balance on the boulder, and starts scaling up the higher rocks to get away from any angel that might try to follow after him. Once he finds himself at a respectable height, he stops, looking out over the carnage.

There’s too many angels. The others seem to be holding their ground, but there’s so many angels.

Shit.

_We need to hurry._

_**Don’t worry about it, your boy Michael’s on the move, **_the Shedim says, crouching down and taking out the bingo card from his pockets. It’s folded and creased, but it’s still whole, and across its squares, there’s a line of X’s. A bingo. _**Won’t be long now.**_

_Good, _Belphegor says.

Below him, angels are already trying to climb up. The Shedim holds a hand up and snaps his fingers - and like something suddenly weighed them down, the angels plummet to the ground, hitting their allies in the process.

_**Pests, **_the Shedim mutters.

_Have you ever seen an angel before?_

_ **Castiel.** _

_Before-before, asshole._

_**Lucifer, **_the Shedim says. _**And all the other demons who were originally angels. They’re not that much different, now that I’ve had a way to compare them to each other.**_

Belphegor hums, or does the mental equivalent of it, anyway. He wonders if he’s changed any from when he’d first fallen.

_**Oh, here he comes, **_the Shedim says, _**Keep your senses open, idiot.**_

_Shut up, _Belphegor says, trading awareness with the Shedim for a moment. He feels it, the sudden electric feeling in the air, the sensation of lightning and fire approaching.

Then -

**Belphegor!**

_Michael!_

Belphegor raises the card in his hand, prepared to invoke a miracle into existence and -

Pain.

_Pain pain pain pain._

He looks down, noticing the bloody arrowhead that’s sticking out of his - the Shedim’s chest.

It _burns._

_Angel blade, _he thinks, in the second he keeps consciousness and hasn’t shut down from the pain yet. _Morphed into an arrow and shot at him. Angel blades are a manifestation of someone’s Grace, they change depending on what suits the angel - this is why Gregori have longswords, Archangels have different angel blades, why lower ranking angels have silver shortswords -_

He feels himself be pushed back to the recesses of the Shedim’s consciousness, but he can’t protest, not when he feels like he’s being cooked alive from the inside out.

The last thing he’s aware of is a burst of power, a shout, and then the feeling of falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon decided to set itself on fire and i'm just....au machine go brr
> 
> anyway it is so satisfying to see Sam in canon just fucking LOSE IT at the thought of his son dying. exactly the content i have been looking for since jack was introduced into the plot


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: emetophobia

Jack falls to his knees, one hand immediately going to his chest, feeling like he’s just been punched in the sternum. His eyes are wide, his arms are shaking, and he’s aware of that sickly feeling of his insides buzzing around with anxiety.

Something’s wrong.

He tries to stand, and then immediately buckles again at the feeling of bile rising up to his throat. He takes in a shaky breath, swallowing sour saliva and trying not to throw up.

Slowly, very careful, he sits up.

Around him, everyone else seems to be picking themselves up from the ground too. He frowns. He’d been on his way to the commentator’s booth to get a good vantage point, in case the fight ever got to the gym - and to protect the injured since they’d been moved from the infirmary to the booth - but then that feeling of being knocked off his feet had come out of nowhere.

And it hadn’t been just him, it seems.

He stumbles forward. One step, another, and then slaps a hand over his mouth as he actually feels like he’s going to hurl.

“What the fuck…” someone says, faintly.

A few feet away from him, someone else actually throws up.

Jack puts his hands on his knees, focusing on his breathing. In, out. In, out. He can’t be put out of commission. Not when he’s the only one in this base with a fighting chance against the entirety of the Heavenly Hosts.

He tries to stand again, slowly. It feels like minutes until he can actually straighten up. His head feels like it’s buzzing.

“What _is _that?” he hears someone say, and he turns, still in that agonizingly slow manner.

“An earthquake?” a girl asks. She looks just as shaky as he is. Everyone does. They all look like they’re about to be sick.

Jack blinks, and then looks up at the lights above them. Some of the lamps are swinging slightly.

One at the corner flickers.

The angels?

No - no, not the angels. He tries to focus on the buzzing, as much as he can. It’s not the angels. It can’t be the angels. The energy feels too infernal, too lacking of Grace to be angels. Besides, the angels sound like shepard tones, their wavelengths frequent and high and piercing. This buzzing is low, malevolent, deep.

Hateful.

Something is angry, Jack thinks. Very angry.

He turns away, as best as he can, and trudges to up to the commentator’s booth. He’s still got a job to do.

* * *

Something’s wrong.

Michael feels it reverberate throughout his whole being - past the human flesh he’s wearing and down to the very atoms of his Grace. Whatever’s happened has enough force to knock his flight off-course, and he finds himself being thrown to the side, barely having the presence of mind to make sure to hold on to his father’s sleeve. Thankfully the man is too weak to manifest out of his physical form, and Michael keeps his grip on him.

It feels like a bomb has just gone off. If the Cage’s space weren’t so warped, Michael’s sure he would have slammed into the wall of it.

He hears Chuck laugh.

Michael tightens his grip on his father’s sleeve, and with his other hand, stabs his sword into the ground to push himself up.

“Did you feel that?” Chuck asks him, the glint of blue in his eyes suggesting something malicious. “Something powerful just died.”

Michael’s brow furrows.

“Something powerful enough to challenge even your powers - something powerful enough to rock the foundations of the universe,” his father says, clamping a hand over Michael’s. “How curious that you and your lot have gotten reinforcements like that.”

No - no, no, no.

Jack?

Had someone hurt Jack? Had someone killed -

Chuck nearly takes his head off with a sword that definitely wasn’t in his possession before. Michael leans back, but the movement makes him let go of the man, and in the time that it takes for him to get his footing, Chuck has already put some distance between them.

He’s standing several feet away from him, straightening out the creases in his clothes.

Michael raises his sword, carefully gripping the hilt with both hands. A disappointed look crosses his father’s face.

“You’re still loyal to them?” he asks, “After everything?”

“What do you mean, after everything?” Michael asks. “After they’ve been nothing but kind to me?”

“Have they?” Chuck asks. “You’ve had to sneak out of the bunker, because they think you’re a loose cannon. They don’t trust you to help them, so you had to go behind their backs to help. You and your friends have been told to stay out of the way, so you had to weaponize that.”

“Please do not insult my intelligence,” Michael says, taking a step to the side. Chuck does the same thing, in the opposite direction, as they both start to circle each other. “That works with other people, but do not think for a second that I do not know you, father.”

Chuck smiles. “But do you?”

Michael feels his stern expression falter, and then grits his teeth as he tries his best to put it back on.

“Do you believe the millenia you’ve had with me?” Chuck asks. “Or the months you’ve had with your friends?”

“They always say the time you spend with someone doesn’t matter, only _how _you spend it,” Michael says, trying for a cheeky grin. Chuck laughs.

“And how did you spend it?” Chuck asks. “In hiding? Doing the most mundane things to entertain yourself?”

“I told you already, that doesn’t work on me.”

“Michael, I can rebuild the universe,” Chuck says. “Into something better. Into something greater. Your friends can still be there - I’m just starting over. Don’t you see? In a universal reset, everybody lives. All the dead rise again. It’s just everything starting over, back to the beginning.”

Michael frowns.

“Technically,” he says, after a while, “But I still don’t want it.”

His father stops in his tracks. Michael does as well. Neither of them say anything for a minute.

“I see,” Chuck says, nodding to himself. “This is a shame.”

“Indeed.”

“Hmm,” Chuck says. He rolls his shoulders back, like he’s working out the burn in his muscles. “I can’t say I tried, Michael.”

Michael tenses, legs ready to move at any moment -

Chuck blasts him back with a burst of Grace, but he’s quick on his feet, immediately jumping to the side, incorporeal wings flared up and flapping once - and he’s suddenly right in front of Chuck, swinging. His father idly deflects his blade with a hand, taking steps backward as Michael continues to attack him.

As Michael swings down, Chuck catches the blade, and Michael immediately wills the weapon to change into a morningstar, its spikes impaling Chuck’s hand as it changes in the space it takes for both of them to blink. The man hisses, pulling his bloody hand back.

It knits itself back up, albeit slowly, and Michael grins, taking his weapon back and letting it return to its former shape.

_“Enough.” _Chuck clicks his tongue and snaps his fingers.

Michael drops his sword, curling in on himself at the sudden pain on his back. It feels like something is burning him, burning his flesh and his Grace, and his wings -

Oh god, his wings.

He looks behind him, not with his physical eyes, and watches as his wings are wrenched away from his being, pulled back sharply, and disappearing into black smoke as they’re fully ripped away from him.

His throat hurts, he then realizes, and his cheeks are wet. He‘s screaming. When had he started screaming?

“Goodbye, Michael,” Chuck says, and Michael barely has the time to react before he’s being thrown back by a force, landing on his back against the ground.

He screams again at the sudden pain. His clothes are wet, and his back is sticky and warm.

His physical form is bleeding.

He tries to get his arms to move, push himself back up, but they’re not responding to him. He can’t feel anything, actually, aside from the searing pain on his back, the way it’s still burning him - the way it burns his chest and his insides, like he’s being cooked alive, inside out.

“I tried, Michael,” his father says, softly, and he almost says it with remorse, but Michael can’t be sure. He doesn’t know if he can afford that luxury. Not when the man’s machinations may have killed Jack. Not when he’s just torn his wings out.

His wings.

Oh god, it hurts.

Michael stares up, at the open mouth of the Cage, the faint light above him that he knows comes from Hell’s caverns. He’s seen this view before. It’d been the same view he’d looked up at with Adam when Hell had opened up.

Adam - is he okay? Michael’s only been on the same plane as him for a few minutes. He hasn’t had the time to check if he can connect with their old mind link.

He hears Chuck walking, feels the familiar hum of his father’s power as the man begins to ascend up to the mouth of the Cage. Belphegor was supposed to slam the thing closed. Had something gone wrong?

He has to get up. He has to stop Chuck.

Michael manages to move a hand, pushing himself up shakily -

His hand slips on his blood and falls back down with a cry.

“Shit,” he mutters. His father isn’t even sparing him a second glance, a faint light in the emptiness of the Cage, already rising upwards and upwards towards its mouth.

_Someone, _he thinks. _Someone help us. Please._

If his father gets out, it’s all over. If his father wins, they’re all dead.

Michael closes his eyes. He’s still crying. He’s never cried in his life until now.

_Someone, _he prays. _Someone save us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you canon for validating my take that amara would love to know jack. also that dean truly is just that one distant uncle to jack,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,dean i love you but my hands - they cannot wait to be thrown.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW Emetophobia

Adam wakes up with a jolt, unfortunately too weak to quickly get up as he feels the bile rising up his throat, so he ends up turning on his side and being sick right there.

Jack rushes to his side, helping him fully turn over so he doesn’t accidentally fall off the edge of the bed. When he’s done, he lays back down on his back, breathing hard.

Everything is spinning.

“Adam?” Jack asks, quietly.

“It’s Michael,” Adam wheezes out, so softly he’s not even sure he’s said it out loud. “He’s - he’s here. He’s hurt.”

Jack pales, eyes widening slightly. 

“You can feel him?” he asks.

Adam nods weakly. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Adam says. “But - he’s hurt. I think - I think it’s the Grace - ”

The Grace woven into his soul, the very thing that made sure he wouldn’t go insane in the Cage and in the transition from Hell to Earth, the thing that might have saved his life earlier.

It  _ burns.  _

A sudden tremor runs through the room, rippling from the outside and into the gym. Jack looks up. Overhead, the lights flicker.

“What’s going on?” Adam asks.

“Angels,” Jack says. 

“Angels?” Adam asks. “Wasn’t Dean - “

“Chuck interfered,” Jack says. 

Oh.

Adam nods. He looks away to the side. “Fuck,” he says.  _ “Fuck.” _

“Yeah,” Jack says, unable to say anything else. What the hell was there to say?

“Help me up,” Adam says, already trying to push himself up. 

“Adam - “

“I can fight,” Adam says, and with every ounce of willpower he has, summons his Grace to surface, silver armor suddenly coating one of his arms and helping him sit. Jack hesitantly steadies him as he turns and swings his feet down to the floor. 

“Are you sure?” Jack says. 

“I’m not gonna let you fight alone, you’re just a kid,” Adam says. “Besides - it was supposed to be all four of us, right? Just a couple of bastards working together?”

Jack pauses. He laughs, sadly. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“Let’s go, then,” Adam says.

Another tremor, this one strong enough to actually make Jack stumble a little bit. Adam holds on to the edge of the bed to avoid falling. Outside, the sounds of gunshots and screams. 

“It’s started,” Adam says. “We need to get ready.”

“I’ll go out front,” Jack says. “You keep watch on everyone here?”

Adam looks around. They’re in the commentator’s booth, he realizes. It’s been turned into an impromptu infirmary.

“Yeah.” He nods. 

Jack gives his arm one last pat. “Good luck,” he says.

Adam smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “To all of us.”

* * *

Michael’s never felt sick before, but right now his head aches, his muscles burn, and all the blood sticking to him is making everything feel disgusting. He’s trembling all over, both from the pain and the anxiety, and his tears still haven’t stopped.

He wonders, idly, if this is what Lucifer had felt like, the day he’d gotten kicked out of Heaven. 

Michael laughs, and then promptly chokes on the blood that he’s coughing up. Lucifer had thought that their father had loved him too, and then when he’d questioned the plan for humanity, he’d gotten kicked out. How ironic, that their father had embraced the very same mindset, millenia later. 

Like father, like son, he supposes. 

He wonders if he can even stand, or he’s supposed to choke on his own blood right here. He wonders if the others even know what’s happening to him.

He’s tried his best, hasn’t he? Fighting against his own father - the man who had made sure he even knew how to fight, who crowned him Prince of the Heavenly Hosts and appointed him as general of Heaven’s armies, the man who knew his every move and skill - it had been a lost cause from the very beginning. That had been why he’d never engaged his father and only kept him running after him, letting him get close but very truly catch him, egging him on to keep him interested. 

He wonders what’s happened to the others. Something must have. Belphegor was supposed to close the Cage. Are they all alright?

Michael gags on his blood, violently coughing and failing to get everything out since he can’t move much. Could he even die if he chokes on it? Or would he just die from the pain of his wings being ripped out?

Maybe he’s going to find out, he thinks, as his vision starts to blur and his eyelids start to droop, the fatigue getting to him. Above him, he can barely see the light of his father, ascending to the impossibly-high mouth of the Cage. Once he’s out, it’s all over. 

Michael closes his eyes. He’s so tired.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

There’s hands, several pairs, grabbing him. Someone violently shoves him to his side and he coughs, spitting out the blood in his mouth. It takes all of his strength to open his eyes, watching the blood hit the ground of the Cage.

“Never took you for the giving up type, Michael,” someone says.

“It’s probably the depression. This is one hell of a situation to find yourself in,” someone else says, laughing. 

They flip him onto his back, and he grunts as the wounds on his physical form hit the ground. 

And then he blinks, once, twice, as he stares at the people above him.

Gabriel grins. “What’s the matter, big bro?” he asks. “Did you miss us?”

* * *

Another tremor hits the school. Jack holds on to the railing in front of him to steady himself. Below him, the crowd of civilians gasp, putting their hands over their heads or holding onto their loved ones. It must be one hell of an experience, to be caught in the middle of a second supernatural attack but this time knowing exactly what’s going on. 

As the shaking starts to stop, he can hear quiet sobbing. 

It must be terrifying, to be human, to be completely helpless against things like these and yet still be expected to survive and coexist with everything in the midst of it all. 

But while he understands why Hunters insist on things being kept under wraps, he thinks everyone knowing is also for the best. For one, they know to let the Hunters do their jobs, and for another, Jack can see the quiet determination on their faces. He spots several people with canisters of salt, having taken them from their homes. A few people have also volunteered to guard the gym along with him, standing at various points with angel blades in hand, with those who know how to shoot armed with guns with angel-killing bullets. 

They’re terrified, but they’re determined to survive. The town has taken all of the bullshit that’s happened in stride. 

That’s always been the thing about humanity, he thinks. They’re so fiercely determined. It reminds him of his mother, so convinced he could change the world that she would give up her life for it. 

The shooting is sounding like it’s getting nearer. Jack tightens his grip on the railing. 

Behind him, a door slams open. He turns, meeting the eyes of a panicked Adam.

And an extremely pissed Belphegor.

* * *

“Gabriel? What - “

There’s a loud explosion above them. Gabriel ducks and raises his arms on instinct, covering his head. The shockwave of the explosion shakes the Cage. 

“There she goes,” Gabriel says, whistling as he looks above. 

Michael does his best to squint upwards. There’s a mass of what looks like black smoke and Grace that’ exploded. 

Wait, is that - 

Another explosion. This time Michael forces himself to lift a hand to shield his eyes. 

“Amara?” he breathes out, disbelieving.

“What are you, slow?” 

Michael turns towards the angel standing beside Gabriel, still achingly familiar even after all these years. 

“Lucifer,” he says.

His brother doesn’t look too pleased to be here, but forces on a fake smile anyway. “Hello, shitface.”

Raphael smacks his shoulder. He hisses.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” Lucifer says.

“What are you three doing here?” Michael asks.

Lucifer gives Raphael an exasperated look. “He really is slow.”

“Dean-o made a deal with the Empty. Or so I’ve been told, anyway,” Gabriel says, crouching. Michael tries to sit up to face him better, and Gabriel helps him up. “Just so happens dear old dad resurrected the  _ entirety  _ of Heaven too.”

“And you…”

“I talked to Raphie.” Gabriel nods towards Raphael, who looks stoic and displeased, but otherwise gives a nod. That must have been one hell of a conversation. “Ran into Luci.”

“And he…” Michael side-eyes Lucifer. “Helped?”

“Out of the goodness of his heart.” Gabriel slaps both hands over his chest. “Can you believe it?”

“Shut up.” Lucifer smacks the back of Gabriel’s head. “I just fucking hate the old man.”

“And well,  _ enemy of my enemy just happens to be my brother so I might as well just help him because I get my revenge and I get to say I told you so  _ and all that,” Gabriel says.

Lucifer smacks the back of his head again.

There’s another explosion above them as Amara and Chuck clash.

Raphael holds out a hand to Michael to help him stand. He takes it. Gabriel steadies him.

“How did you know I was in here?” Michael asks. 

“Some demons told us,” Lucifer says.

“Shedim,” Raphael corrects.

Michael raises an eyebrow.

“We were on our way to a school, actually. I think that was where the Winchesters were,” Gabriel says. “But they told us to come here, come make sure you’re okay.”

“And apparently, if we hadn’t, you would have just dramatically laid there and pretended to choke and die,” Lucifer says.

“Be nice to him, he’s injured,” Gabriel says.

“But was he dying? No.”

“Lovely reunion,” Raphael says.

“Look, we have to focus,” Gabriel says, looping an arm around Michael’s shoulders and swinging the other to grab Lucifer and bring him in close. Lucifer growls, baring teeth. Gabriel ignores him and hooks a foot around Raphael’s calf so she can stand close too. “It is the war of the century, Heaven versus uh, some hunters, and I just got here and I’ve only gotten the cliff notes version of what’s going on,  _ but  _ we know one thing for certain: Dad’s gonna reset creation and we need to stop him, because this place is pretty nifty.”

“He did this to himself,” Lucifer mutters.

“Played himself like a fucking fool, yes, yes,” Gabriel quickly says, just to butter him up. “So we’ve gotta do something about it, ‘cause I like the booze and the casinos and Michael’s got his paramour and you like flowers and Raph, uh – “

Gabriel turns to Raph. “I mean, I know you like something.”

“Heaven is in shambles,” Raphael says, turning away. “And it is…certainly something to wake up to find that our father has lost his way.”

“That,” Gabriel says, nodding. The ground shakes again as Amara and Chuck fight. “So, what do you all say? We’re getting the band back together?”

Michael looks at his brothers, looking not with his vessel but his true sight. He hasn’t seen them in so long.

“Yeah,” he says. “Why not?”

Gabriel smiles so wide his face almost splits open. “Perfect.”

Another explosion. It’s followed by an enraged scream from Chuck. They all look up.

“I was right, though,” Lucifer says. “I fucking told you. I  _ fucking  _ told you.”

“Yeah, whatever, Lucifer,” Michael says.

“And now look what he’s doing, trying to reset the fucking universe, like  _ I  _ didn’t tell him before.”

“I know. Shut up.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Raphael sighs. “I hate this family.”

* * *

_ “Belphegor?”  _ Jack stares. The demon still looks like he’s about to collapse at any time – skin ashy and dark lines underneath his eyes, but his irises are glowing bright, and the look on his face is colder than Jack has ever seen. It looks wrong. Belphegor’s never been a serious person. It looks terrifying.

“Belphegor, you have to rest,” Adam says, trying to pull him back.

“They’re getting killed out there,” Belphegor says, gently – or perhaps weakly, but that can’t be right, because he still manages to pry Adam’s hand off his arm. “You two stay here and protect the civilians. I’ll send every hunter I can back in here.”

“But you - ”

“I’m fine,” Belphegor says. He doesn’t smile, his tone isn’t light or reassuring, it is sharp and steady and so undeniably  _ angry  _ that Jack has to wonder what it would have been like if Belphegor had been on the other side of the board.

He starts walking, nearly stumbling for a few times, but eventually his legs start to cooperate, and he starts to go down the stairs, weaving his way through the crowd. Jack and Adam share a look before going after him.

“If you actually go unconscious, your control of Hell might break,” Adam says. “Belphegor, we can’t afford that right now.”

“We won’t have to worry about that,” Belphegor says, still continuing on forward. “Trust me.”

“But – “

“It’s fine, Jack,” he says, and his voice does go a little softer this time. “Everything’s already gone fucked up. We might as well give it our best shot.”

“But what are you planning to do?” Jack asks.

There’s a rather loud gunshot. Jack flinches. It’s too near.

“The Shedim are angry,” Belphegor says. “The angels killed one of them, the one I went to Hell with.”

“Oh,” Adam says, just as Jack says, “Wait,  _ what?” _

“They want revenge,” Belphegor says, not bothering to explain, still marching forwards. “I say, give them what they want.”

They’re nearing the doors now. Belphegor appears to be speeding up with his steps, and as the guards at the front recognize him (and see the look on his face), they let him through. Jack and Adam run after him.

“Belphegor – “

“It’s a bloodbath outside,” Belphegor says. “And there will be more. Keep the humans in here.”

“But are you gonna be okay?” Jack asks.

“’Course I am,” he says. “I’m too much of a bastard not to be.”

All three of them turn a corner. There’s someone on the ground, lying in their own pool of blood, their head nothing but a mess of bone and flesh. There’s an angel in a blood-splattered grey suit standing right by the body.

The angel turns as soon as he spots them. Belphegor clicks his tongue and flicks his hand to the side, sending the angel crashing out through a window via telekinesis.

Jack makes sure to stay away from the window.

“Regular weapons won’t work against them, but the Shedim are powerful,” Belphegor says. “We’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?” Adam asks.

“Definitely,” Belphegor says, and stops and turns, facing both of them. “But in case some of them get through our defenses, then someone needs to hold down the fort for the humans. Do you understand me?”

Jack and Adam share a look. The three of them are all this school has in terms of supernatural power, and Belphegor has the advantage of having Hell at his disposal.

Adam sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

Jack nods.

“Good,” Belphegor says, patting their shoulders. He smiles, finally. “Go get ‘em, boys.”

“Don’t suddenly act like you’re wiser than us, dipshit,” Adam says, laughing.

“It’s weird,” Jack says.

“Let me have my dramatic speech, you fuckers,” Belphegor says. “Now go.”

“Stay safe,” Adam says.

Belphegor nods, eyes still glowing bright, and he turns away, striding down the corridor with purpose in every step. The shadows around him seem to thicken as he gets further and further away, and Jack and Adam watch as they gather close, until finally, they see hands and arms crawling out of the darkness, dragging their torsos and then their full bodies out of the shadows. They follow Belphegor as he walks, lifting themselves up to stand right by him.

The Shedim.

“Ah,” Adam says. “You know what they say, it’s always the quiet ones.”

“He’s not quiet, though.”

“It’s always the dumbasses,” Adam corrects himself. “But come on, we still have a job to do.”

He and Jack turn back towards the gym, taking off running to return to their posts.

This is their last shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter written before the new episode came out and I'm just. speechless. It's been a week.


	34. Chapter 34

“Do you care about them?”

Belphegor turns to the shadow hovering over his shoulder, still in the process of getting skin to form around its shape. The demon barely blinks as flesh starts knitting itself in front of him. “About?”

“The humans,” this Shedim says. “That human. That Nephilim.”

“Depends,” Belphegor says. “I care about Jack and Adam.”

“He’s not lying,” another says, this one looking a lot more human than the other, its face still forming itself. “That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“A little demon found his place amongst the humans,” it says, voice mockingly sweet. “That’s angel shit.”

“Bit of news for you, angels hate humans,” Belphegor says. “Most of them anyway.”

“Funny that,” the first Shedim says. “I always thought they loved humans.”

“Why is that?”

“Because demons are the antithesis to angels, right?” it says. “And if Hell hates humanity…”

“Nah, angels are dicks,” Belphegor says.

“So you don’t miss being one?” yet another one says. This one’s vessel is fully formed.

“No,” Belphegor says. “I don’t remember it.”

“Ooh,” it says. “No love lost between you and your father, then?”

“He’s not my father,” Belphegor says. “Not if I don’t even remember him being one.” He pauses for a moment. Ahead of them, he can see the entrance door. It’s still closed, but there’s blood all over it.

It flashes him back to the last time he’d been here, running towards the door, trying to help as much as he can for the sake of his own survival. There’d been blood all over it the last time too.

“I don’t think most of the angels really remember him being one either,” he says.

“That’s funny,” the first Shedim – he can see it – her? her. He probably shouldn’t call his own allies ‘it’s – her face this time. “I always thought Heaven to be so warm. Kinda like the opposite of Hell, you know?”

“Is that why the angels are dicks too?” the second one asks. “Because Heaven isn’t as warm as we’d thought it was?”

“Probably,” Belphegor says.

He stops as they’re all by the door now. He tries to see as much as he can through the blood all over the glass.

Someone gets slammed onto it, and then slides down, dead. Shit.

“What about earth?” the third one asks. “Is it nice here?”

“It’s terrible,” Belphegor says. “Loud and obnoxious and chaotic.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Belphegor says. “But it’s not fixed-terrible like Hell, and it’s not cold like Heaven.” He shrugs. “It’s whatever it wants to be, and sometimes it just wants to be loud and obnoxious and chaotic.”

“Is that why you’re trying to save it?” the third Shedim asks.

“That,” Belphegor says. “And the fact that we’re all going to die if the end arrives.”

He hears Dean yelling outside, shouting out orders. They need to get out there.

“Listen,” he says, turning to the Shedim, most of them already humanoid and staring at him in rapt attention. “Get the humans inside and kill every angel you can. That’s the plan.”

“The humans won’t listen to us,” someone says.

“I’ll talk to Dean,” he says. “Just don’t harm them. Throw them out of harm’s way if you must, but do not hurt them.”

“But we get to kill the angels?”

“With extreme prejudice.”

He’s answered by identical grins on all the demons’ faces, so wide their skins should have split, but somehow they haven’t.

“That we can do,” the first one says.

“And I’m counting on you to,” he says. “Get your revenge.”

_“Gladly.”_

The entrance slams open as all of the Shedim rush out, speeding past and over him, leaving laughter in their wake. Belphegor turns, following after them. At his feet, there’s a dead hunter, a gun in one hand and a crowbar in the other.

He takes both, settling the crowbar by his shoulder.

He takes in a deep breath.

_“Dean!”_

* * *

He’s not going to be able to fly. He’s barely able to stand as is, leaning most of his weight on his siblings as all four of them look up at Amara and their father duking it out above them.

Still, Michael’s going to find a way around it, somehow. He’ll have to.

“We’ve never fought with The Darkness before,” Raphael says.

“But we’ve fought with each other,” Lucifer says. “And we’ve fought against her. That’s experience enough, right?”

“It’ll have to do,” Michael says.

He focuses on his Grace, trying to bring it to the forefront, condensing it around his physical form. It’s slow, but after a few seconds, he’s wrapped in armor.

He feels three other pulses of energy as his siblings summon their own weapons.

“Any chance we can catch him off-guard?” Gabriel asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael says. “But we can try to hit him as hard as we can.”

“That’s the plan?” Raphael asks, a little disbelievingly.

“We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel,” Lucifer says.

“We’re going to wear him out,” Michael says. “I have friends outside that can close the Cage.”

“We’re going to cage him?” Lucifer raises an eyebrow.

“He can’t die,” Michael says. “The universe would end, us included.”

Lucifer clicks his tongue. He continues to watch the fight overhead. “It’ll have to do,” he says, eventually. “We can never have what we want, huh?”

Raphael steps on his foot. He hisses, trying to get away, but Gabriel holds him in place.

Lucifer bares his teeth. “I am going to kill – ”

“Focus,” Michael says.

“You already lost me the second you said you had friends,” Gabriel says.

“_Can _they close the Cage?” Raphael asks.

“Yes,” Michael says. He’s not sure how, exactly, but if Belphegor can create a weapon to put Hell under control, and he’d told Michael earlier that he can close the Cage, then Michael’s going to wager that he can find a way to close the Cage even without the Horsemens’ rings. “They can close the Cage, but we’ll have to give ourselves enough time to get out.”

There’s a loud screech above them, a clash, and then an explosion of black smoke.

“We’re gonna have to trust them,” Michael says. “We have no time right now.”

“Fine,” Lucifer says. “Just make sure I’m not gonna be stuck here.”

“If you move fast enough, sure,” Michael says.

Lucifer rolls his eyes, and as he steps back, Gabriel lets him go and Raphael steps aside.

He puts a hand on the back of the collar of Michael’s armor. Michael raises his hand to the top of his own head, not touching his hair. Lucifer tightens his hold.

He pulls his arm back. And then, he launches Michael straight at the fighting above.

Michael sweeps his hand down his face, Grace following it, forming a helmet right over his head as he shoots like a bullet towards Chuck. His father barely registers he’s flying towards him, having only a second to glance before Michael’s bashes into the side of his torso, crushing his ribcage in a single blow from how hard Lucifer’s thrown him.

It’s not going to be enough, though. It’s only his physical form that has been damaged. 

And Michael’s already falling, having no wings to anchor himself in the physical-not-physical realm of the Cage. He tips his weight backward, head angled towards the ground, easily getting out of the way of the arrow that Raphael fires at their father.

Chuck screams.

_Belphegor! _Michael sends out, as loud as he can, tapping into whatever reserves of Grace he still has. _Belphegor, are you alright?_

** _I’m good. _ **

Relief floods Michael. He swings his knees up to his torso, effectively tipping his weight again and flipping him over so that he’s poised to land feet-first.

“Incoming, big bro!” Gabriel yells, and Michael readies himself as he hears a horn sound out.

_Can you still close the Cage?_

**_I can, _**Belphegor says. **_I’m taking it your siblings made their way to you?_**

The sound of the horn seems to taper off, and there’s a sudden low vibration around them, similar to how Jack’s powers manifest as vibration pulses. Michael crouches and hits one of the pulses, and it launches him straight into the air again. He catches a glimpse of Amara’s surprised face as he speeds towards them.

His father is taking out the arrow that’s stabbed his side. His ribcage is still caved in, one of his shoulders and legs angled wrong from the injury, and his torso is barely half of what it’d looked like earlier. There’s blood all over his shirt, having thrown it up when Michael had bashed into him earlier.

He snaps his attention to Michael, seething.

Chuck throws a hand towards him. Michael’s ripped out of the trajectory he’s going, slammed backwards by an invisible force.

A loud note sounds below. Not even a second later, there’s vibrations heading towards Michael, bouncing him back upwards.

_Yeah,_ Michael says. _We’re helping Amara fight Chuck._

He forces his weight back again, flipping back so that he can ride the momentum of the pulse rightside up. Another pulse bolsters him upward.

**_Shit, Amara’s fighting? _**Belphegor says. **_What do you need?_**

_We’re going to wear Chuck out, _Michael says. _When we get him down, we’ll escape, and I’ll need you to close the Cage._

**_Keep me on the line, then, _**Belphegor says. **_I’ll be on alert._**

_Thanks. _

“Insolent _brats!” _Chuck screams.

“Keep your eyes on me, brother!”

Chuck turns, too late, as Amara’s glare is already an inch away from his face. She backhands him across the Cage, and he barely gets a breather as another arrow shoots him dead on, impaling straight through his chest.

Michael comes up to Amara’s level just as the Cage shifts, the darkness of it ebbing away to make room for what looks like the inside of a stone castle. Unfortunately for Chuck, the room makes itself fully tangible before he can hit a wall, and he ends up crashing into one directly behind him.

Michael’s feet touch down on cold concrete. He stumbles, quickly pushing his Grace to form a sword to keep himself up.

The room they’re in is large – it’s more of a hall rather than a simple room, with its high ceilings and winding staircases. Michael and Amara are both on a high platform, a long staircase a few ways off from them, connecting them to the far, far ground, where Raphael and Gabriel are, Raphael with her bow and arrow still at the ready and Gabriel with a silver trumpet up.

Chuck is all the way across the hall, having crashed into a wall and remained stuck there. The stone around him has cracked. Debris is falling around him.

“Michael,” Amara says.

Michael turns to her, snapping out of his battle trance for a moment. He nods to her. “Amara.”

“You’ve seen better days,” she says.

He manages to crack a smile underneath his helmet. “Yeah, I’ve been better,” he says.

“And your siblings are here,” she says, nodding towards where Raphael and Gabriel are.

“I’m sure you have questions,” Michael says. “But we don’t have time.”

“Unfortunately,” Amara says. She drops it, though. He’s going to have to rest if he survives this fight, since he’s got a lot of talking to do. He doubts his siblings are going to be as cooperative when none of their existences are threatened anymore.

“We’ll talk later,” he says.

Across the hall, the dust is settling. Michael turns to see Chuck’s injuries glowing, his caved-in torso slowly cracking itself back into place with sick, crunching noises. There’s blood all over his face, his already badly-angled leg and shoulder bent in further wrongly.

His eyes are glowing, rageful. He’s looking straight at Michael.

Michael pushes himself up to stand straight.

He’s gonna have to give it his all.

* * *

In the gymnasium commentator’s booth, amidst the constant shaking and the gunfire outside, Sam Winchester wakes up, clutching his side in pain. He tries to roll over, to get away somehow, but only ends up falling off the bed he’s on.

“Sam!” Adam says, rushing to his side.

He can’t breathe. His chest feels like it’s caved in on itself, unable to fill in air because there’s no room for it at all.

“Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?”

He tries to motion to his mouth, to his chest, and ends up patting it forcefully to indicate that something’s wrong there. Adam’s eyes widen in understanding.

_“Jack, I need you in here!”_

Footsteps. In a second, there’s hands on his shoulders, the familiar feeling of Grace flooding his system. The pain doesn’t ease, though, only gets kicked back to brain static, as if his whole body is shutting down pain receptors instead.

“Chuck,” Sam manages to get out. “It’s Chuck.”

“What?” Jack asks, sharing a look with Adam.

Adam frowns, but it lifts as realization dawns on him. “They’re fighting Chuck,” he says. “Michael – I could feel him, and he’s here – that means he’s fighting Chuck.”

“He’s giving him shit, it looks like,” Sam grits out, trying to offer a laugh, but it only comes out sounding strangled.

“How bad is it?” Jack asks.

“I think – I feel like…I can’t _breathe,” _Sam says.

Jack’s eyes glow brighter, kicking up the healing process, not that it’s doing much when he’s not injured.

“We need to do something about your shitty mindlink,” Adam says.

“How?” Jack asks. “It’s not like our mindlink.”

“Well, there has to be _something,” _Adam says. “There’s gotta be something. Sam – what started this in the first place? You had a wound, right? You shot Chuck and got injured too and then you started having visions – is there anything you can think of right now that might help?”

Sam doesn’t answer right away, still working on catching his breath. Outside, the gunshots and screaming continue.

Eventually, he motions to his injured shoulder. “Bullet,” he wheezes out. “Bullet. We…we could never…take out the bullet.”

Adam blinks at him.

He does it again.

“Excuse me?” Adam asks. “How long ago were you shot?”

Sam waves a hand. “Weeks.”

“And you never took out the bullet?”

Sam glares at him.

“We – ” Wheeze. He draws in a slow breath. This time it feels like he’s able to fill his lungs up. “We couldn’t find the bullet. The gun was originally…empty. It fires – fires whatever the price the shooter pays.” He pauses. “I think. Something like that.”

“The bullet disappeared?” Jack asks.

“It probably merged with him or something, if it wasn’t exactly a regular bullet,” Adam says. “Like, if it was originally empty and you shot Chuck…”

Sam nods. “Likely made out of a part of me, so this bullet could be a part of Chuck.”

“What do we do?” Jack asks.

“Try to find it, I guess,” Adam says. “There has to be a way. It doesn’t exactly belong with him.”

“I can look for it,” Jack says. “Or I can try to.”

Sam shakes his head. “No,” he says, lifting his head to look around the room, listening for the noise outside that hasn’t died down since it started. “You need to be ready…to help everyone else.”

“But – ”

“Chuck already knows what we’re doing anyway,” Sam says. “It’s too late - ” He gasps, the breath knocked out of him as a sharp pain pierces his chest, like he’s been stabbed.

“Easy, easy,” Adam says, pushing him back so he can lean on the edge of the bed.

Jack presses his lips to a thin line, obviously displeased with the situation but seeing Sam’s logic. A look of determination crosses his face.

“Jack – ” Sam starts, but Jack beats him to it.

“Belphegor,” he says.

* * *

“You’re _awake?” _Dean’s barely got the question out before he has to turn his attention back to the fight again, shooting an angel away with a shotgun. The thing goes down, taking the angel-killing bullet straight into the chest and exploding into light.

“Call for a retreat,” Belphegor says. “We’ll take care of this.”

“What?!” He flinches as one of the Shedim speed past him and sinks its teeth into an angel’s arm.

“You’ll be massacred out here!” Belphegor says. “Those demons are with me.”

_“What?!”_

“They’re the Shedim.” An angel launches itself at him, sword in hand. Belphegor angles his head to the side sharply and it’s knocked out of its trajectory. He hefts up the gun he’s got, aims, and fires. “We can stand to take a lot of injuries. Your hunters can’t.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks, then follows up, for clarification: “The telekinesis.”

“Oh. Yeah, it’s like everyone’s base power, man, haven’t you noticed?” Belphegor aims the gun to the side as he notices someone else running towards them. He fires again. Another one dead. “Although I will say, if you’ve got telekinesis, absolutely abuse that power. It’s handy.”

“How the fuck are you walking around, you were in a coma,” Dean says. He takes the butt of his gun, spins on his heel, and slams it into the temple of an angel. He flips the gun and shoots it straight through the skull before turning back to the conversation. “If you collapse – ”

“I won’t,” Belphegor says. “And I don’t need to control the Shedim, they’ve…got their own reasons to fight.”

“Like what?”

“Revenge, for one,” Belphegor says. “The Shedim – the one who went with the others in Hell. He’s dead.”

Dean pauses. “Angel?”

“Angel.” Belphegor nods. “They’ve got a score to settle.”

The hunter hesitates for a moment. Then, above them, a loud sound, like a trumpet ringing out. The wind around them starts to pick up.

Belphegor raises his head to the skies, watching the storm clouds gather.

“Shit,” he says.

“What is it?”

“That’s a war horn,” Belphegor says. “They’re summoning every warrior they can spare to attack.”

* * *

“What?” Sam says, trying to see where Belphegor’s bed has been placed. “Belphegor’s – ”

“Outside,” Adam says. “Belphegor’s awake. He has been this whole time.”

_“What?”_

“He’d know, somehow. He’d know something,” Jack says, pulling his hands away from Sam’s shoulders. His eyes flash gold for a moment, and he pausing like he’s listening to someone talking. Then he nods, looking to Adam, who frantically starts checking his pockets for something. He takes out a creased card.

It’s a bingo card.

“Found it,” Adam says.

“Did you win?” Jack asks.

“What?” Sam asks, again, having no idea where this is going.

“I don’t know, I’ve never kept track,” Adam says, flipping it over to check. “I haven’t been marking things off.”

Both of them wince. Whatever Belphegor is saying is intense.

“Fine, fine, I’ll try,” Adam says. “Do you have a pen?”

“No,” Jack says. “The world is ending and we’re being attacked by angels, why would I think about getting a pen – oh. Oh, wait.” He pauses again, listening. “Hang on.”

He feels around his jacket. From his left pocket, he takes out a pen, one of those cheap mini gel pens.

“Oh,” he says. “I forgot about that.”

He winces at something Belphegor says. Adam snatches the pen from him and starts marking off his bingo card.

“Are you sure this will work?” Adam asks. Jack doesn’t answer, so the question must be for Belphegor. Sam, unable to do much but wait it out, raises a hand to gently knead his chest in an effort to stave off the pain. After a few seconds, Adam finishes marking off the card.

“Done,” Adam says. Then, “Yeah, I – I won.”

He waits again, listening to instructions. Then he flips the card over and starts writing on it.

Enochian, Sam realizes. Of course Adam would know Enochian from all his years with Michael in the Cage.

“You are _sure _this will work?” Jack asks this time.

“Yeah - look man, this sounds insane,” Adam says.

Whatever Belphegor says back, Adam rolls his eyes to.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he says. “Whatever, you’re the expert here.”

Adam carefully traces out the lines of whatever Belphegor’s having him do, a look on concentration on his face despite his questioning.

“Done,” he says. He listens again.

For a second, his confidence in Belphegor’s abilities seems to falter, actual hesitation crossing his face. Then he nods.

“Okay,” he says, in a small voice.

“Can I help?” Jack asks.

His face falls after a moment. Whatever it is, Adam has to do it.

“Okay,” Adam says, lifting the card. He stares at it for a moment, and then he speaks: _“I invoke the rules of the universe, I invoke the law of balance, for actions have consequence and everything is the product of the history before it. I call upon the threads in the fabric of existence that answers to causation, that says everything in this universe answers to everything within it. With the authority I have as a part of this world, I demand what is rightfully mine.”_

The card starts to glow, a rich, bright blue, not unlike angel grace.

“It works,” Jack says.

Adam is listening to Belphegor again. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s see if it works against Chuck.” He focuses on the card again, trying to sort out what he’s going to say next. He turns to Sam, lifting the card near his shoulder. “This is the injured one, right?”

“Yeah.”

Adam nods. _“Every victory implies something to be won,” _he says. “For my prize, I demand that what links Sam to Chuck be removed.”

Sam’s brow furrows, even more confused this time, but he doesn’t have time to say anything, because there’s a sudden burning pain in his shoulder.

He screams.

It’s searing hot, and he realizes, suddenly, that he can feel something moving in his shoulder. It lurches forward, and he hunches over in pain.

_“Fuck!” _

“It’s working,” Jack says. “Holy fuck.”

“It’s something holy alright,” Adam says, getting the card out of the way.

The bullet – the bullet that has _somehow _reformed, moves again, drilling its way out of Sam’s joint. Sam grits his teeth, trying not to thrash.

“Sam?”

“Bone,” he says. “It’s in the bone.”

Adam winces in disgust.

The bullet moves, slowly, his injury glowing as bright as the card that’s still in Adam’s hand. He feels it sluggishly trying to get its way through, and then suddenly, when it’s finally dug its way out the bone, it shoots out of his shoulder, lightning fast.

The only thing that stops it from blowing a hole into Adam’s head is Jack’s hand snapping out and catching it.

“Holy _shit,” _Adam says, staring at the blood-soaked bullet between Jack’s fingers.

“I panicked.”

“One hell of a way to panic, Star Platinum,” Adam says, scooting to the side to get away from the bullet. He hisses, suddenly, flapping the hand holding the bingo card away. He drops the card.

It’s burnt.

“Guess it’s used up,” Jack says.

“Probably,” Adam says. He motions to Sam. “Fix his shoulder.”

Jack obliges, tossing the bullet over to Adam and placing a hand over Sam’s injured shoulder, making sure not to touch it so he doesn’t aggravate it. This time, the wound heals, much to Sam’s relief. Castiel hadn’t been able to heal it, after all.

“Belphegor’s asking if you want to join the mind link,” Adam says, carefully placing the bloody bullet into his pocket. Probably for a funny story later of how he nearly got shot by it. “Now that we don’t have anyone doxing your thoughts, that is.”

“Give me a moment,” Sam says, still in the process of catching his breath. Even as the wound in his shoulder heals and the pain ebbs away, he’s still sweating and exhausted by the whole thing. “Where’s Dean?”

“Outside, but I think Belphegor’s trying to get him inside,” Adam says. He looks up, listening to the link. “Yeah, he is. Your brother’s stubborn.”

“What’s going on? Catch me up.”

“How much do you know?” Adam asks. “You were linked to Chuck, right?”

“For a while,” he says. “I’m still trying to – ” He motions to his shoulder. “I was in a lot of pain, wasn’t in the headspace to sort through everything.”

“Fair enough,” Adam says. “Well, angels are attacking us. Bel woke up and is trying to get the hunters to take cover in the gymnasium. He and the Shedim are fighting the angels.”

“He’s trying to minimize casualties,” Jack says.

“Doubt the hunters will stand down easily, but – ” Adam says. “It _is _going to be a bloodbath out there.”

“Done.” Jack pulls his hand away from Sam. The skin on the shoulder is unmarked, good as new.

Sam tries moving his shoulder. There’s no pain. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jack says.

“Mind link?” Adam asks.

“Go right ahead,” Sam says. Jack presses two fingers to his forehead, and there’s a sudden rush, like he’s falling from a high place. The silence of his thoughts gets violently interrupted by a myriad of emotions, none of them his.

Sam leans his head on his knees, trying not to be motion sick when he’s not even moving.

“It takes a while to get used to, especially with so many of us on the line,” Adam says. “But it’s convenient.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Sam groans, slowly sitting up. Everything looks so bright, but the light is slowly dimming, the room coming back to focus again. “What are we doing?”

“If everything goes to plan, all the hunters should be here soon,” he says. “We’ll hold down the fort and protect everyone we can if angels get past the Shedim.”

“Are they going to be okay?” Sam asks. He puts a hand on the edge of the bed behind him so he can stand. Jack and Adam follow.

“It’s the Shedim,” Adam says. “They’re probably gonna be alright.”

“And they’ve got Belphegor,” Jack says. “He’s got Hell.”

“True.”

Sam hums, nodding. His legs aren’t agreeing with him too well, unfortunately, and he has to sit for a moment.

“You okay?” Adam asks.

“Yeah, just – ” He frowns, trying to focus. “Trying to sort everything out.”

**Between the pain and the spying on Chuck, I imagine things are rather jumbled**_, _a thought slips into his head. He recognizes the voice.

Rowena?

**The very same, Samuel, **she says, **Good of you to join us.**

**_Welcome to the chat, Sam_**_, _Belphegor says. **_I’ll catch you up on what’s been going on, on our end as soon as you’re ready. Just give me the word._**

“Thanks,” he says, not even minding that he’s saying it out loud. Now that he’s not worrying about his chest feeling like it’s collapsed in on itself, he can focus, sort through everything he’s felt through his link with Chuck. The man had known immediately that Sam was spying on him, and he’d hijacked the plan to have the Empty resurrect angels, fought Michael – let him grab him, really, he’d felt confident about the whole thing…ripped out someone’s wings, at one point? He’s in the Cage right now…

Sam opens his eyes, not even sure when he’d closed them.

Sam? Castiel asks, concern flaring through the line.

“I just remembered something,” Sam says. He looks up at Jack and Adam’s worried faces. “The Cage can’t contain Chuck.”

* * *

“Mother_fucker,_” Belphegor hisses. “Dean, they have to go. Get inside.”

The clouds above them are rushing in, fast, almost in fast-forward. Within a few seconds, the grey of it has covered everything he can see.

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Dean asks.

“We’re _demons, _Dean,” Belphegor says. “We’re supposed to be fighting angels.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Dean says. He takes a step back so he can duck an incoming swipe from an angel, and then fires a shot. As he’s ducked, Belphegor takes a shot above him, hitting another angel on the way towards them.

Dean runs closer to him, so he can fight off anyone attacking them while Dean takes in a deep breath and lets out a loud yell: _“Everyone retreat! Get inside!”_

Around them, Belphegor sees the hunters give them confused looks, but just like the last attack, they start swinging and shooting their way out of the fray, already starting to head back towards the school as much as they can.

Belphegor fires off a round at an angel to their left. He nails it straight between the eyes.

Dean yells again: _“Everyone get inside! Let the demons – ”_

The earth shakes, suddenly – another earthquake, but this time not from the Shedim’s rage. Belphegor sees lightning strike the ground, meters away from the school grounds.

A second later, there’s another.

Then another. And another. And another and another and another, the lightning striking the area all around the school.

Angels, he realizes.

Shit.

_“Everyone inside, now!” _

“Go!” Belphegor shoves Dean back, pushing him towards the school. “Go, go, go!”

Dean nods, taking off running. All the other hunters around them do as well, plowing through angels on their way. A few of them yell out the command, passing it on to their fellow hunters.

Belphegor turns forward, and brings forth every ounce of awareness he has on Hell’s situation. He feels his body sway, nearly shutting itself down into a coma again as his mind spreads out thin, spiderwebbing into every branch of Hell’s hivemind.

Around town, there are ghosts spread out, frozen in place with his command. There’s ghosts going as far as the cemetery, just as frozen.

“Boss?” There’s hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady.

He lets them take his weight, still trying to get to even the smallest parts of what makes up Hell. It looks like veins, in his stretched-out mind, and he reaches his entire being out to everyone he can.

Belphegor opens his eyes, irises glowing gold.

“_Hell,_” he says, watching the angels continue to gather around, one lightning strike after another. All the ghosts in town turn, in unison, all to the direction of the school.

Belphegor grins.

_“Kill them.”_

* * *

There’s a rush of information flooding through the mindlink. Michael can barely pick anything apart considering he still has to focus on what’s going on.

Chuck’s already halfway through healing himself, lifting a newly-healed hand and placing it onto the wall he’s embedded in. Michael starts to step forward, but Amara raises an arm in front of him, blocking his way.

“Let me talk to him,” she says.

“What?”

“Let me talk to him, Michael,” she says. “Please.”

Michael holds her gaze, for a moment. She doesn’t look away.

After a while, he nods. “Alright,” he says. He looks towards Gabriel and Raphael, who turn to him as he raises a hand in a signal. Confusion crosses their faces, but with a single flap of their wings, they’re standing right beside him.

Amara descends the staircase and makes her way towards her brother.

“What’s going on?” Gabriel asks.

“She wants to talk to him.”

“To try and talk some sense into him?”

“Probably,” Michael says. “But keep your guard up.” He looks to Raphael as he says that, and she nods, stepping up beside him and aiming her weapon at Chuck, who’s stopped moving and is glaring down at Amara, who’s undeterred, approaching him.

With the brief calm of the situation, Michael tunes back in to the mindlink, letting the information rush at him. He can feel Sam with them now, can feel Rowena and Castiel’s annoyance and worry outside, can feel everyone’s general confusion at feeling Belphegor in the line, and a sense of panic from both Belphegor and Dean.

_Is everyone alright? _Michael asks.

**_We’ve got angels raining down from Heaven, _**Belphegor says. **_I’ve taken the reigns outside, since Hell can take more of a beating than the humans can. _**

_Good call, _Michael says. _And Adam? Jack?_

** _In the gym, safe. _ **

_Good. _

Amara is standing in front of Chuck now. With the emptiness of the stone hall that the Cage has shifted into, the sound carries extremely well.

“Brother,” Amara says.

“Sister,” Chuck says, idly brushing aside hair from his face, since it’d stuck to his forehead due to the blood earlier. “What a wonderful reunion for us, don’t you think?”

_Sam’s with us now? _Michael asks Belphegor.

**_They’ve gotten the Equalizer bullet that let him have a link with Chuck out, _**Belphegor says.

_How?_

** _Invoked the else-if part of the universe._ **

_I don’t – we’ll talk later, _Michael says. A cackle runs down the link. _But he’s alright?_

** _I’m keeping tabs on them, he’s still a little woozy from the sudden connection in the line._ **

“You know why I had to resort to this,” Amara says.

Chuck just laughs, extracting himself from the wall easily. He snaps a broken leg into place with a kick and steps forward, standing face to face with her, glowing with power. “Do I?” he says. “Do enlighten me, sister.”

“You’re going mad, brother,” she says. “A full reset? A full wipe of everything you’ve ever made?”

“A full wipe of all my mistakes,” Chuck corrects, gently.

“What _mistakes_?”

“All of this,” he says, motioning around. “The structure of this universe, the composition of all of this – the _humans.” _He shakes his head. “What was I thinking?”

“You were curious,” Amara says. “You had a love for creation, a love for discovery. That was why you invented _choice, _because you wanted to know what possibilities humanity could create with that power. That was why you wrote free will.” She takes a step forward, as if to reach out for her brother, but stops before she can touch him. “Is that not the beauty of humanity? The point of it all? The fact that they weren’t – _aren’t _set like Heaven or Hell, that they have so much in front of them because they create?”

Chuck only frowns.

“Made in your image,” she says. “And you wanted to see what they can do.”

“And they ruin everything they touch.”

“That is part of it!” Amara says. “You wrote that actions have consequences in this universe. And that’s how they learn, that’s how they grow, isn’t it?”

“Have they grown, Amara?” He steps to the side, and Amara takes a step to the opposite end, making sure to not be near him. “History repeats itself, again and again and again, and what have they done? Repeat every mistake, run through the same hamster wheel despite the fact that they’ve been here before.” He looks away, disappointed. “And the magnum opus – the very reason why this universe was created, those stupid Winchesters. They’re no different. Two idiots doing the same thing over and over and learning nothing from everything they’ve ever lived through.”

“And you won’t let them grow through realizing that on their own?” she asks. “You would take that choice away from them?”

“They’ve run my patience to the ground,” he says, stepping to the side again, walking away from her. “Chance, after chance, after chance, and they’ve squandered it all.” He throws his arms up, exasperated. “I’m over it. I’m over all of it. I’m over Dean’s broodiness and Sam’s martyr complex and Castiel’s self-hating self-destructiveness.”

“Just tell it to their faces, why don’t you,” Gabriel mutters.

“I’m done with it!” Chuck says. “What’s the point in going through the same story over and over again? This world is ending even without my help anyway, and the Winchesters are going to ruin themselves in the same way over and over again whether I do anything about it or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I am _omniscient, _dear sister. What part of that do you not get?” he says. “I created this world. I am a part of this world. I _am _this world, and I am tired of it.” He actually looks sad as he says it, and Michael can’t tell if he’s lying. “I want to start over again. A blank slate. A new chance. This time – I can do it right. _I’ve _learned from my mistakes. I know what to do now.”

“And it won’t be the same.”

“That’s exactly it,” Chuck says. “I don’t want this flawed, hateful world, with humanity killing each other over and over, ruining everything it touches. This world that cares for neither of us, that doesn’t care for you.” He motions to her. “None of it does, not even your dear friends. Not even your precious Dean.”

“What – ”

“Do you think he would have thought about you if they didn’t have a use for you?” Chuck asks. “Do you think they would have bothered? If they had a way to kill me and they knew it would kill you along with it, they would take the chance. And _Dean _wouldn’t bat an eye. _Dean _would be the one to suggest it.”

Amara frowns. “He wouldn’t.”

“You think he wouldn’t?” Chuck motions to Michael. “Michael, who’d saved Dean’s youngest brother, was locked in a bunker, because they didn’t trust him. _Their own brother, _Adam, left in the Cage and unremembered, only addressed when they literally nearly ran over him after he and Michael had crawled out of Hell. They were ready to kill Belphegor at any given moment, even when he was already helping them.”

“They were wary.”

“The Winchesters do not trust anyone other than themselves,” Chuck says. “What the hell could their brother have done? What the hell warranted Adam being shunned to the bunker as well, when his soul is held together by shoestring and gum from years in the Cage that _they _were responsible for? What warranted the wariness for a demon at the very bottom of the rank?” He drops his voice to a near-whisper. “What warranted the wariness for Jack, a child desperate for their approval since the moment of his birth?”

Amara hesitates.

“Why would they trust you?” he asks. “Why would they care for you, when they’ve never even thought of you this whole time? Don’t lie to me, that you didn’t feel their suspicion, their hostility, when you approached them. They care for no one but themselves, Amara. If they can run Castiel ragged when he’s been nothing but loyal to them for years, they sure as shit don’t care for you.”

He motions upwards, to the mouth of the Cage. “And do you know why they had Michael drag me here?” he asks, and Michael’s eyes widen. Oh no. No, no, no. “Because they were planning to close it with him and me here. The only reason the Cage hasn’t closed is because an angel has intercepted the attempt, but as soon as they get back on track, guess what?” He smiles. “They’re locking us all in here, and they’re not going to care. Because they’re going to justify it by saying it’s for the greater good, that it’s because they lose people all the time - what difference does losing all of you make, when sacrifices are commonplace?”

No, no, no. Amara hates any mention of being caged. Hates any _insinuation _of restraint.

“Shit, right in the trauma,” Gabriel mutters.

“No,” Amara breathes out, disbelieving, her eyes already glossing over as panic starts to steamroller past every other thought she has.

“Raphael,” Michael says.

Raphael nods and checks her aim.

She fires.

Chuck easily catches the arrow with his hand.

Amara blinks, snapping out of her trance at the sudden interruption.

Chuck clicks his tongue, annoyed, and twists the arrow around so the head is pointed outward. He takes a step back and throws the arrow right back towards Raphael. It sails through the air, bullet fast.

_“Get back!” _Michael yells, pushing his siblings back and raising an armored arm up. The arrow bounces off the metal on his forearm.

“This changes nothing,” Chuck says. “None of it does. When that demon of theirs gathers his strength, this Cage will close.”

“Shoot him again!” Gabriel yells.

Raphael readies another arrow.

Except Chuck moves first, too fast for any of them to notice. One moment, he’s standing in front of Amara, and in the next, he’s up in the air, thrusting a hand out, curling it around something and digging his nails in.

The Cage shifts abruptly, the stone hall blinking out of existence and Michael, Gabriel and Raphael falling as the platform they’re standing on disappears under their feet.

In the air, Chuck has Lucifer by the neck, nails digging into his throat and drawing blood and Grace, the pain of the attack having broken the illusion he’d shifted the Cage into.

_“Lucifer!” _Michael yells.

**_Michael, _**Belphegor’s panicked, angry thought shoves itself into Michael’s already-frantic mind. **_Michael, bad news._**

_How could it possibly get worse now?!_

** _The Cage can’t contain Chuck._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- attempts to write the ending into one chapter  
\- looks at wordcount  
\- oh.
> 
> Also, I can't believe my shitpost fic where I'm like oh, Lucifer will come back got validated yet again by canon bringing back Lucifer even for a brief moment lmao.
> 
> Last episode next week...I still can't believe it. SPN has been a constant in my life for years, and it's the last thing I have left from my childhood (that shouldn't have been a part of it anyway, but hey, it happened because I stayed up late switching channels and saw an episode and loved it) and it'll be gone next week. My childhood's dying next week kjdhfksd
> 
> I'll try to get the second half of this part edited and posted a little earlier than the finale drop, if only so we can all just have time to process and mourn the end together.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: BODY HORROR
> 
> this fic really went lmao crack to body horror in 90k+ words lmao

_“What?!” _

Jack sees it the moment Dean slams the doors to the gymnasium open. He’s soaked in blood, the red sticking to his clothes, several splatters of it all over his face. Jack raises a hand to signal where he is.

The man nods, and then turns to all of the hunters behind him, handing out instructions.

“Adam, we’ve got injured hunters,” Jack calls back to the commentator’s booth. “Switch with me.”

Adam nods, already by the doorway, and Jack takes his place inside, just as Dean and the injured hunters start to climb their way up the stairs.

“Dean’s here?” Sam, from where he’s sitting on a bed, looks up.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I’m on healing duty. Injured hunters.”

The first of said hunters walks in just as he says that, supported by a slightly-less injured one so they can both hobble inside. Sam stands and helps them get to an empty bed.

Jack gets to work as soon as the first one lays down.

“What do you mean the Cage can’t contain Chuck?” Dean says, approaching Sam, voice lowered but still within Jack’s hearing range, as he finally enters the room, after everyone else has come inside.

Sam’s still helping the injured settle down, so he doesn’t answer, instead guiding people to beds and grabbing chairs for those who aren’t as badly hurt. Dean, patiently, waits.

His brother sounds weary as he finally turns to him.

“I mean it can’t contain Chuck because it was never meant to,” he says. Jack looks up briefly to see a frustrated look cross Dean’s face, but Sam speaks again before he can say anything. “That thing can contain an archangel, sure. But it can’t contain Death. Death reached into it and got _me _back, remember?”

Huh. Jack would look up, but he’s currently putting someone’s insides back into their stomach, and it’s delicate work, so he doesn’t dare break his concentration.

“And guess who’s on par with Death, who created a universe where Death can exist in the first place?”

_“Chuck,” _Dean spits out with disdain.

“Right,” Sam says.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do, then?”

Sam doesn’t answer. Quietly, Jack sends a thought out to Adam to contact everyone else, just to see if there’s something they know. Between Castiel, Michael, Rowena, Belphegor and _Amara – _magic heavy-hitters – there’s got to be something.

There’s a flurry of emotions in the line right after, none too intact for Jack to grasp, but tangible enough to feel. The undercurrent continues, even as he finishes healing his first injured patient and moves on to the next.

The Cage appears to be made out of whatever the Empty is, Castiel suggests. It’s why we have – the thought cuts out for a second – It’s why we have all these angels attacking us right now.

Jack sends out a pulse of worry.

I’m fine, Jack, Castiel sends back.

**Apparently, Death can bypass that, **Rowena says.

I’d made a crack in it, beforehand. On accident, but, it happened.

**_That means you know how the Cage operates, though, _**Belphegor says.

Yes, although at the time, I hadn’t known about the Empty part. I hadn’t exactly been aware of its existence, he says, I had the sense to not approach it fully, though, only reach out and pull. 

** _No, no, no, no – think of it this way. The Empty is where all demons and angels go to rest, correct?_ **

Yes?

** _And prior to all this mess, it had been asleep._ **

Yes. My awakening unfortunately woke it up.

Jack sends out another quiet sorry. Castiel only sends back a pulse of fondness, a feeling akin to his hair being ruffled, and a warm laugh from his father.

He smiles, knitting together the last laceration his current patient has. He moves to the next bed. This one’s arm is missing. He’s not sure he can help regrow a new one without losing time for everyone else. He’s just going to have to stop the bleeding and let the stump heal cleanly.

**_We can assume, then, that whatever material the Empty is made of, it renders all celestial and infernal creatures asleep by default, unless they’re woken up. _**Belphegor says.

**That would make sense if that’s why it was used to create the Cage, **Rowena says. **If anyone tried to approach or break it by themselves, they would immediately drop asleep.**

**_Exactly, _**Belphegor says. **_So why the fuck was Lucifer awake the whole time?_**

Dead silence down the line.

_Michael, _that’s Adam this time. _Michael, you there?_

There’s no answer.

Jack looks up. Both Sam and Dean are frowning, concerned.

“He’s probably fighting,” Dean says.

“Who’s seen the inside of the Cage before?” Sam asks, then, as a correction, “And remembers it clearly.”

_I have, _Adam says. _It’s…weird._

“Weird how?” Dean asks.

_You could make shit inside it if you imagined hard enough, _Adam says. _I remember Lucifer did it a lot, he was really good at it. ‘Cause, you know._

Sam flinches. Involuntarily, it seems, because he looks confused right after. Jack turns away and focuses back on his task. Someone’s life is on the line here.

**But Michael didn’t fall asleep? **Rowena asks.

_No, _Adam says. _I didn’t either. Neither did Sam._

** _What’d it look like, in its default state?_ **

_Blank, _Adam says. _Dark. Cold. But it was endless. Like, you could walk forever if you wanted to. I’ve run around it for years when I got bored, once. _

** _That’s…interesting._ **

Like the Empty.

**I’ll throw in my two pinches of salt here – you were already awake when you saw the Empty and what it looked like, Castiel.**

_Is that something?_ Adam asks

**Could be, **Rowena says. **Because if no one can be awake when in the Empty itself, then – **

“Cas could have seen the part of it where someone _can _be awake,” Sam says. “Like, the flipside of the Empty.”

**Exactly.**

“Where does that lead us?”

**_It leads us to the conclusion that perhaps the Empty makes up the Cage – _**that’s Amara! – **_But the inside is hollow._**

That might be why it can be opened and closed, Castiel says, And not just somewhere that someone can be dropped in and put to sleep.

**_Exactly, _**Belphegor says.

_Amara, how’s Michael? _Adam asks.

**_We’re busy, _**she says. **_But – thank you for pointing out the inadequacy of the Cage. _**She pauses, hesitance filtering through the line. There’s a sigh. **_Because I might have a solution to our conundrum._**

* * *

“Lucifer!” Michael screams, even as he’s falling, even as his stomach drops from the news that the plan to trap his father here had been in vain. His vessel never used to react like that. It’s never supposed to react like that. _What the fuck._

He instinctively tries to flare his wings out, but only succeeds in getting his vision to white out from pain.

_“Gabriel!” _that’s Raphael, yelling.

“On it!”

A loud note from his trumpet sounds out, and then a low hum buoys them all up, stopping the three of them and Amara from falling down to the bottom.

Above, Michael can see their father’s face, smiling in almost-pity, as he looks at Lucifer.

“Hey, pops,” Lucifer says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Lucifer,” Chuck says. “You’re stubborn even beyond the grave, aren’t you?”

“Mm, you know what they say,” he says, and then grins, before he smashes his head right into Chuck’s nose. Michael blinks, not expecting that, but his brother’s immediately put distance between him and their father as soon as Chuck lets go from the pain. Lucifer’s hovering, mid-air, posing like he’s leaning on something tangible. Perhaps he is. He’s learned to weaponize the Cage a long time ago, after all. “Bad grass doesn’t die fast.”

Chuck’s just as fast to move once he’s recovered from the shock, appearing right in front of Lucifer before Michael can even see him move a muscle.

He punches Lucifer right in the gut, and the angel goes flying down in the space it takes any of them to register what’s happened.

“Shit,” Gabriel says, looking down from where they’re all held up by a steady vibration. “I can’t see him.”

“Did he go through the bottom?” Raphael asks.

“That’s impossible,” Michael says. “The Cage – ”

There’s a sudden rush of air in front of them, and they all turn, only to see a large, scaled creature open its jaws and close it around Chuck. Michael stares up at it, gaping.

“That wasn’t here before,” Amara mutters.

_“I’ve waited a long time for this, old man!” _

A flash of light, racing up towards the head of the dragon. Lucifer. There’s blood all over his mouth and chest, like he’s just thrown up all of his vessel’s insides, but there’s a manic grin on his face. “And thank you ever so much for walking into _my domain!”_

Light is condensing above him, forming the outline of something. It shines, brightly, just as the dragon below explodes into chunks of blood and flesh that disintegrate into nothingness like the illusion it is. Chuck glares up at Lucifer, but the light behind him has already formed another large serpent. It snakes around Lucifer and heads straight toward Chuck, taking a huge bite of his midriff and dragging him down below.

“Guess that’s another thing that backfired, huh!” Lucifer calls out. “You piece of _shit!”_

All four of them stare down at where Chuck’s disappeared. Amara, in the corner of Michael’s eye, frowns at something, tilting her head like she’s listening. He realizes then that the mindlink has been busy with people throwing thoughts back and forth.

“Huh,” Raphael says as she looks up at Lucifer, looking absolutely unhinged. “Not to give everyone false hope, but we might have something to our advantage, after all.”

“We’re not stuck here with dear old dad,” Gabriel says, pointing his trumpet towards Lucifer. “We’re stuck here with _him.”_

“Focus,” Michael says. “It’s not over yet.”

“Michael,” Amara calls.

He turns. She has a grim look on her face.

He’s not going to like this.

“Change of plans.”

* * *

Belphegor sways and feels his connection to the mindlink snap, falling to a knee as his control over Hell tugs at his awareness. His consciousness is already paper-thin, and with the rampage around him and the ghosts constantly moving, it’s getting yanked all over the place; that’s not even counting the demons all over the globe, racing and popping up all over to join in the fight, mindlessly responding to his command. He can’t afford to do something as mundane as staying connected to a mass telepathic connection.

He doesn’t notice that an angel’s moving to stab him until someone above deflects the blow with an arm, and then proceeds to smash the angel’s head into the ground before taking a huge bite out of it.

“You’re disgusting,” he mutters.

The Shedim looks up at him, smiling with blood all over her teeth and chin. “Not even a thank you?”

“Thank you, you’re disgusting.”

“That’s more like it, boss,” she says. “You okay there?”

“It’s a little hard to focus when I feel like I’m in too many bodies at once,” he says.

“Hmm.” She stands, grabs his arm and pulls him up to his feet. He’s too tired to even fight it. “Maybe we should get you somewhere safer.”

He snorts. “It’s an all-out siege, there _is_ nowhere safe.”

She hums again. He feels a sudden powerful pulse, and he realizes she’s just let out a telekinetic blast that plows off every angel that had been approaching them meters away.

Carefully, she takes the crowbar he has in one hand, leaving him to stand only with psychic support holding him up. There’s a cut on her jacket, right by her arm, from an angel blade, and she rips the fabric of the sleeve open so she can get more access to the wound.

Slowly, she squeezes the flesh around the cut and wipes off the blood with a palm, before smearing it all over the crowbar. She does it again, until the crowbar is blackened with blood, and then she hands it over to him.

“What’s this for?” he asks.

“In case you run out of bullets,” she says, smiling. “If you go down because you were too distracted to think quickly when you run out, we kind of lose, boss. Who knows if these ghosts are gonna fight if they’re thinking straight.”

He huffs, but adjusts his hold on the crowbar anyway, careful.

Another pulse comes from her, pushing off another wave of attack.

Belphegor looks up at the sky, which hasn’t stopped raining lightning all over the place. Even if the ghosts and demons around them are taking the winged dicks down by the second, the entirety of the Hosts being resurrected means they might be drastically outnumbered. The ghosts can slow down the angels, but they can’t kill them, not without enough weapons. The demons that have arrived and the Shedim aren’t close to enough to match the manpower (angelpower?) they’re up against.

Whether he falls or not, he’s not sure he can clear the field. Their only hope might be to finally get rid of Chuck and have the angels fall back, somehow.

Somewhere to his left, he hears glass breaking. Pure dread shoves him straight back into awareness as he turns behind him.

An angel had made it inside earlier. The demonic interference by the Shedim should have been enough to stop the little bastards from getting inside again, but –

Another crash. If he’d had enough energy to make his blood react in a way that would make him go pale, he would have been pallid with fear.

The angels have gotten inside.

* * *

There’s a shift in the pressure of the air around him. Adam feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Something is wrong.

“Everything’s going wrong,” he mutters to himself. It’s a funny thought to have when literally nothing has gone to plan since the beginning, but the feeling stays with him anyway. There’s a certain electric feeling in the air, like he’s standing a little too close to something giving off fumes.

The lights above flicker. They haven’t done that since Belphegor and the Shedim have taken over the fight outside.

He gives the gym a sweep. All the exits are blocked and guarded, there’s people with angel-killing weapons standing guard. A few of the healed-up hunters have taken positions all over the gym, while Jack is still taking care of the ones who’d had less life-threatening injuries, as he’d fixed up the rather dangerous ones first.

Sam and Dean themselves are already in position, Dean at the front of the gym doors and Sam at the fire exit. Adam can feel their anxiety through the mindlink, loud and clear, although there’s also a laser sort of focus in the undercurrent of it.

He wonders if they feel the shift. They must. They’re seasoned hunters.

Still, none of them are ready for when Belphegor’s full-blown panic slams into their brains.

**_Get ready! _**He says. **_The angels have breached our defense!_**

* * *

“What?” Michael asks.

“Change of plans,” Amara says. Below them, there’s a primal scream of rage, while above, Lucifer shifts the Cage’s scenery into the raging ocean. Michael doesn’t have a warning before the other three grab onto him so he doesn’t fall into the angry, black waves of the sea that’s suddenly below him.

Harsh winds blow around him, pelting his physical form with rain. His clothes stick to him even worse now, washing at the blood that’s all over him.

“Easy, Mike,” Gabriel says. “Fuck, why did Luci have to change everything to _this.”_

Raphael’s bow and arrow glow, and she moves her hold on it as it shifts, raising it up as it expands and warps around them. A second later, they’re all in a transparent sphere, untouched by rain.

In the distance, there’s an explosion of water, and then after that, large, _large _tentacles, thrashing about the waves.

“That, I assume,” Amara says.

“None of them will hurt our father, not badly,” Raphael says. “But it will certainly exhaust his physical form.”

“He’s weakened,” Amara says. “A part of him is missing. It’s still yet to be retrieved.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, or he’ll literally pull a deus ex machina,” Gabriel says. “Anyway – what change of plans?”

“The Cage won’t hold Chuck,” Amara says.

_“What?!” _Gabriel and Raphael stare at her, disbelieving.

Raphael turns to Michael sharply. “What have we been fighting here for, then?”

“I didn’t know,” Michael says. “We didn’t know.”

“Calm down,” Amara says, putting a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. Raphael stiffens, clearly unused to any form of physical contact, but says nothing, since Amara notices and lifts her hand right after. “We’ve just recently received this information.”

“Where – ” Gabriel squints at Michael, eyes flashing blue for a second, and a look of understanding flits across his face. “_Ohhh, _I see. That’s handy.”

“Sam’s gotten us information that the Cage won’t be able to contain Chuck,” Amara says. “But I might be able to have a solution for us.”

“And will it work?” Raphael asks.

“I don’t know,” Amara says. “I’ve never tried it before. The last time I had been imprisoned, it had been outside of the universe, with the lock on a human being.”

“We don’t have a lock,” Gabriel says.

“And no one should have to go through the insanity of being the lock.”

“We don’t even have a human around to be one,” Raphael says.

“What do you propose, then?” Michael asks.

“I may not be able to lock him out of a universe he made, not without anything to hold it close, _but,” _Amara says. “I created the Empty. I am its mother. It belongs to me and only me.”

Michael’s eyes widen. “You’re not saying – ”

“I am,” she says. “I’m saying we’re going to try to lock him in the Empty.”

* * *

Jack throws a hand out behind him as soon as Belphegor’s message gets to him. The door to the booth slams shut, unused furniture find their way flying towards the doorway, barricading it. He raises his hand, aiming it towards the walls of the room, and then up the ceiling, and as it moves, angelic wards burn themselves into the concrete.

As soon as he’s done, he returns to the hunter he’s healing. He’s got a stab wound in his thigh, but it’s nothing Jack can’t fix.

“What’s wrong, kid?” the man asks.

“Angels,” he says. “They broke through Belphegor’s defense.”

The man tenses, all the other remaining hunters in the room doing the same.

“I need to heal you first,” Jack says. “You can’t fight your best if you’re not in top shape. I’ll need a minute, but let me heal you first.” He focuses on the wound, watching it knit itself back together. “Please.”

The flesh reforms in the stab wound, followed closely by skin smoothing itself out, as if the wound hadn’t been there at all. Right, next patient.

“You’re a good kid, you know that?” the hunter says, making Jack pause. “You’re a good kid.”

“I’m…” Jack trails off, unable to say much. Memories of the apocalypse world flash across his mind again. “Thanks.”

“I mean it, you’re doing your best,” he says. “When all this is over, we owe you, like, a trip to Build-A-Bear or something.”

Jack laughs, mostly at the ridiculousness of it all. Who knows if any of them are going to get out of here alive? Who knows what comes next after this? Who knows how to react when he’s possibly making friends with people outside of his family and the weird quartet he’s gotten into, and the world is still falling apart around him?

He’s never had the luxury of even considering these things. Not before. Certainly not now.

The hunter’s gun is on a nearby table, so he picks it up, checks how many bullets there still are. He nods at whatever he finds.

“Go on, then, kid,” he says, standing. “Fix everyone up. And then when you’re done, open the door for us. We’ve got angel ass to kick.”

Jack nods. “Okay,” he says, determination renewed. He sets to work on his next patient. There aren’t a lot more injuries to fix, just a couple of stabs and cuts here and there on people.

Outside, there’s a loud _bang!_

The angels have reached the gym. He pushes his Grace on further, urging it to heal faster. As soon as the injury’s stitched up, the hunter he’s helping stands and grabs her own gun off the desk, heading for the barricaded door, ready. The man from earlier takes his place up beside her.

Gunshots, outside, followed closely by screaming.

“Everyone back! _Everyone back!” _Adam yells, voice muffled through the wall but panic clear all the same.

There’s a shake. The lights flicker, and then, they go out.

“Shit,” Jack mutters. The only source of light in the room are his eyes, and the power pulsing through the wounds he’s healing. This one’s only got cuts along the arms. They heal quickly, and Jack moves on to his last two patients.

Another tremor. Jack focuses on the injury. One second, two seconds, three – the wounds are done. The hunter takes their position and he moves on to the last one. Five seconds, six, seven.

A scream, too close this time.

_“Fuck!” _That’s Adam. There’s a loud clash of metal.

The wounds on the hunter close, healed.

Jack whirls on his heel, throwing a hand out to the barricade. All the furniture slam themselves up to the ceiling, sticking there, and the door throws itself open. The hunters rush outside, already firing at their targets. The room empties in less than two seconds.

Jack stares at the empty doorway, hearing the gunshots and the ringing of angel Grace outside, his brain dangerously close to tuning it all out. All the furniture held up by his power slowly lower themselves back down.

His father had told him he didn’t have to save the world.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to.

* * *

Adam jumps over the railing, the armor around his arm morphing into a shield as he slams it right onto the angel below him. The angel goes down, but unfortunately, Adam has to take a while to get his footing and get away, and in the time that it takes him to even stand, the angel slams him into a wall.

He chokes, the air in his lungs knocked out of him. His head cracks against the concrete. He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen, slumped down on the floor of the gym, and that his shield has disintegrated from lack of focus.

Come on. _Come on. _He’s been killed once, has spent thousands of years in Hell with an archangel, and his soul is in tatters. He’ll survive this. He _should _survive this. How the fuck is his body not responding when he’s not even fully human anymore and should have the advantages of that inhumanity?

Still, he finds it hard to even focus, vision spinning. Had his spine taken injury? It had to have. He’d hit the wall back-first.

His Grace. Angels aren’t constrained to the limits of their human vessels because of their Grace. He’s got a lot in him, he should be able to do the same thing.

He focuses, trying to capture that same feeling of bringing forward the Grace in his soul whenever he summoned a weapon into being or shifted it into something, directing the heat of it to his back and to his head. After a few seconds, his vision starts to get clearer.

Unfortunately, it’s a little too late, since the angel’s already close and kicks him right in the stomach. He wheezes, out of breath again, and feels a sharp pain in his abdomen. Had the kick been hard enough to damage something?

There’s gunshots above them. The angel looks up and deflects the bullets with their blade, before sweeping a hand out and sending the hunters that had attacked flying to the side. They let out a huff, irritated.

Adam tries to focus on his Grace again, seeking out the injury in his stomach. Weakly, he pushes himself back to put some space between him and the angel, but he barely even moves from his spot on the floor.

The angel above him lifts a foot, wordlessly staring him down with cold indifference on their face. They’re going to crush his head in.

_“Hey asshole!” _

The angel looks up. So does Adam, as best as he can.

_“Fuck off!”_

There’s a heavy pulse above them, and Adam’s vision fills with gold for a moment. The angel in front of him is thrown back, right onto the gym floor as the civilians around them have thankfully vacated, packing themselves onto the bleachers as much as they can.

Someone drops down in front of him. Adam can blurrily make out a beige jacket.

Jack.

Adam sees the angel past Jack’s feet, unsteadily getting up, coat rumpled and hair askew, a murderous glint in their eyes. They look livid.

Jack’s voice doesn’t waver. He raises a hand instead, standing between the angel and Adam resolutely. There’s no panic coming from his connection in their mind link, only steady, undisturbed calm.

“I said,” he says, “_Fuck off.”_

That single pulse of gold energy erupts from his hand again.

The angel explodes into nothing but flesh and light.

Adam immediately curls up, instinctually shielding himself from the rain of blood and ground up meat. Unfortunately, his stomach _screams _in pain, and he uncurls himself just as fast, only to be pelted in hot blood and freshly liquefied flesh.

He stares at his hands as the wet little plops around him stop. There’s blood all over him.

“You okay?”

Jack’s kneeling in front of him, one hand held towards Adam’s stomach. He can feel the pain slowly fading away.

“Did you have to make them explode?”

“What?”

“Did you have to be so dramatic?” Adam sits up as Jack pulls his hand away. Nothing hurts when he moves. “I feel like you’ve spent too much time around us now.”

Jack laughs. “I learned from the best,” he says. Adam jokingly swats his arm.

“Don’t go _too _over the top, you little shit,” Adam says, smiling. He calls his Grace to the surface again, reforming his shield. He stands; Jack helps him up.

There’s still angels in the gym, even though most of them have stopped to stare at just what Jack has done, surprised by the sheer display of power. Nearly everyone has, even the hunters that are herding the civilians up the bleachers or fighting off angels.

Adam stands with his back to Jack’s holding the shield up.

“Nice to have you awake for this one though, bud,” Adam says. “It was shit to fight alone last time.”

Jack laughs again. “I’m glad to be fighting with you.”

* * *

“Focus on the entrances!” Belphegor yells. “Don’t let any other angel get inside the premises!”

The mass of ghosts and demons around him move, swarming past the angels, shoving them aside as they surge nearer towards the building. Several angels stab and swipe at them, but they don’t even notice, some defending themselves and some taking the blow without so much as a flinch, all focused on the one command that has been given to them.

“We’ve got reinforcements coming from the east,” the Shedim beside Belphegor says. She’s been holding him up for several minutes now, and is the only reason he hasn’t collapsed yet.

As if to prove her point, Belphegor’s ears ring. He winces. The Shedim patiently lets him lean his weight on her hand that’s on his shoulder.

“We’re going to need more weapons,” he says. “Or something to at least bolster our numbers, barricade the school further.”

“More demons will come.”

He nods. He can’t do much but wait. The demons are already teleporting towards the school as fast as they can.

But time isn’t on their side right now. Every second wasted is a second that can mean the life or death of someone. He can feel Adam and Jack’s minds on the telepathic link, both racing and clearly in a frenzy from fighting off enemies. Sam’s and Dean’s are clearer, with them being more experienced, but there’s still that nervousness, that anxiety of _what if. _

He diverts his attention to Hell, for a moment. Michael’s thoughts are still faint, laser-focused on his own battle. Castiel, Amara and Rowena are the same.

At the very least, all of them are fine. For now.

“Come on, think,” he mutters to himself. Amara’s got a plan to beat Chuck, so he doesn’t have to worry about that – he’ll think about it again if it fails, but for now, he’s got to focus on his own tasks or he’s going to start ripping his hair out – and everyone inside is fighting for their lives, so he’s got to make it easier for them.

“The windows are broken,” he mutters to himself. “We need a closed space.”

“What are you thinking, boss?”

“Angelic warding,” Belphegor says. “But it needs to be a closed, contained space to work. If a part of the building is broken, then it’s going to be useless.”

The Shedim hums. She yanks him backwards sharply so he doesn’t get hit by an arrow that’s suddenly sailing by, and then grabs the bloody crowbar in his hand, throwing it towards the direction the arrow had come from. It stabs through the attacking angel’s throat, the skin and flesh around it bubbling as the angel screams.

The Shedim calls the crowbar back, and it lands in her hand just as the angel explodes in Grace.

She hands it back to him. He nearly drops it. He can’t feel his fingers.

“We can make a flesh barricade,” she offers.

A shudder escapes him, against his will. Belphegor gags. “That’s awful.”

“It’ll work, though. It can patch up the windows,” she says. “We’ll just melt some bodies and board up the entrances.”

The idea has some merit to it, even if it _does _sound disgusting. He frowns, turning it over in his head.

Wait, no. He’s got no time for that. He’s got no time for _anything. _He can’t waste any second doubting decisions.

“Do it,” he says.

The Shedim grins, and her eyes flicker grey for a moment, communicating with her siblings over whatever bond they all had. Within seconds, Belphegor can see Shedim darting all over the place, ripping out throats and limbs off of angels and running towards the dead vessels, picking them up and tossing them at each other.

“I feel like I’m gonna regret that,” Belphegor says.

“After this fight is over? Sure,” the Shedim says. “But it’ll work.”

“Hm,” he hums. His eyes slide shut and he lists to the side. The Shedim holds him in place.

“Careful,” she says.

“Sorry.”

He’s going to pass out. He’s sure he’s going to pass out. He can’t hold control of Hell _and _of his body at the same time any longer.

“Shit, get down!”

The Shedim shoves him to the ground so that he’s crouching, hunching over him to shield him. There’s a bright flash of light that has him instinctively closing his eyes and bringing an arm up to eye level.

When he lowers it and hazards a look at what’s happening, he sees that the Shedim has stayed right where she is, poised over him like a cat protecting her kitten, growling lowly.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Seraphim,” she spits out. “Just smited a good portion of the ghosts out.”

_“Shit,” _he says.

“You good to stand on your own, boss?”

“No,” he says, bitterly. He’s not about to lie, not when they’re in the midst of a fight. Even in the face of danger, he can already feel his body trying to shut itself down.

The Shedim nods, moving to side so she can grab his arm and lift him up, slinging it over one of her shoulders. He realizes what she’s doing when she grabs the other arm and places it on her other shoulder.

“If you lose concentration, we’re dead,” she says, turning to glare at him for a moment. Belphegor freezes in fear less at the glare itself and more at the fact that she’s twisted her head around like a fucking owl. “Don’t blow this for us.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he says.

She stands, carrying him in a piggyback and keeping his arms in place telekinetically so she can take the crowbar and the shotgun from him. He closes his eyes, letting his mind fully spread out to the rest of Hell. Whatever tension he feels snaps free; he feels lighter, now that he’s not trying to control ghosts and demons and his body at the same time anymore.

He feels around for Hell – at the demons that are still approaching and those that are already here, at the ghosts hurriedly descending to the school from whatever part of the world they might be, some of them cracking and flickering as they get farther and farther away from the object that’s tied them to the world of the living in the first place. He feels into the caverns of Hell, at whatever else is left behind there.

If he’d had a physical body to fully control right now, he would have smacked a hand to his forehead. Of course. Stupid. How could he forget?

He feels a writhing mass in Hell, clawing and thrashing at the hivemind, like, bloody, wet flesh slapping against the walls of his skull.

Maybe they won’t be able to kill angels, but they sure as shit would be one hell of an obstacle to go through.

And just like that, the many-limbed, many-headed, stuck-together mass of bodies in the Third Circle start crawling their way out of the depths.

* * *

“How the fuck would we do that?” Gabriel asks.

“_Can _we do that?” Michael asks. “Shit – incoming.”

Raphael throws her arms to the side, moving the sphere they’re in to the left, just as a severed octopus arm crashes into the sea, right where they’d been earlier.

“Luci’s going ham,” Gabriel mutters.

“So’s Chuck,” Michael says. “But – the Empty. Could it hold him?”

“He’s never been able to defeat me on his own,” she says. “Not in an all-out fight. It could.”

“How do we do that?”

“The walls of the Cage are made of the Empty,” Amara says. “If we can shove him into them, he’ll be able to enter it.”

“This place doesn’t adhere to physical space,” Raphael says.

“Is there a way to get to the walls?” Michael asks. “Can you bring them closer, since they _are _made of the Empty?”

“I don’t know,” Amara says. “This place – it doesn’t adhere to physical space, but it also adheres to gravity. And yet we still can’t reach the walls, only the bottom. It’s like a black hole, somehow, when Lucifer’s not doing that.”

She motions outside, and on cue, a large snake leaps out of the water to take a snap at Chuck, who dodges and snaps his fingers. One of the snake’s eyes explode.

Think. Think, think, _think. _They have to shove Chuck into one of the walls and let Amara push him into the Empty to put him to sleep.

“Well, if we can’t get to the walls from the inside.” Gabriel points a finger up. “Then…”

Michael looks up. Of course.

“We have to get him outside,” he says. “And then shove him into a wall.”

“That’ll be tricky. He’ll move fast,” Raphael says. “And we won’t have Lucifer’s illusions to help us.”

“Then _we’re_ just going to have to move fast,” Michael says. “We’ll get him to the walls, and then once he’s there – ”

“I’ll take care of it,” Amara says. It looks like it pains her to say it, but there’s a determined look in her eyes anyway.

“We’ll end this,” she says, “For good.”

* * *

The civilians won’t be safe on the bleachers forever, but at the moment, it’s easier to make sure they’re in one place so the hunters can focus on protecting that area.

It makes it easier for Adam to focus on fighting, anyway, blocking blows with shield and slamming the flat surface into angels to knock them off balance before quickly shifting the shield into armor to help him punch through their chests. There’s blood all over his face and on one of his sleeves from how often he’s done that, but he’s shit with a sword, so he’s not about to risk it. Besides, it’s not like he can control the force behind any of his punches with the Grace armor on, so he’s resorted to using that to his advantage by just going berserk with it.

Jack, several meters away from him, is having an easier time, golden pulses of energy ringing out of his hands, blasting angels away or into pieces upon contact. His eyes have been bright gold for minutes now.

Adam looks around. They seem to be making good progress with cutting down enemy lines, as nobody’s attacking him now and he actually has time to observe his surroundings. Belphegor must have taken back control of the situation outside and re-strengthened their defenses. Good.

Jack misses one angel with his pulses, and they run straight at him. He catches their face in one of his palms and slams them back onto the ground, their whole body growing bright as he smites them.

He stands, the smell of burnt flesh and ozone wafting all around him.

“Belphegor’s got everything under control, I think,” Adam says.

“Looks like it,” Jack says.

“Thank – fuck,” Adam says, correcting himself at the last minute, taking time to just hunch over and put his hands on his knees, catching his breath.

Blood smears all over the pant leg where his armored hand is touching. He winces, pulling it away, but the damage has already been done. There’s a dark stain on one of his knees.

Jack laughs, beside him.

“Shut up, I can’t even afford pants right now,” Adam says. “I’m broke as fuck.”

“We’ll steal one then,” Jack says.

“Look at you, advocating for stealing now.” Adam snickers. “Cas is gonna kill us when he gets back.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

I can hear you, Castiel sends at both of them.

They both laugh. Adam’s comes out as a little more hysterical.

What are they doing? The world is ending and they’re fighting for their lives and he’s joking around and there’s blood all over him and his pants are ruined, and _oh god. _

He takes in a deep breath. He’s about to start hyperventilating. Focus. _Focus. _

A gunshot rings out in the gym. Then, silence.

It’s Dean who breaks it first.

“Barricade the doors!” he yells. _“More of them could be coming in soon, don’t let your guard down.”_

That sends the hunters into a flurry of movement, most rushing towards the doors and grabbing whatever they can. A couple of them are rushing up to the commentator’s booth to grab the unused equipment. It’s not like anybody’s going to mind when it’s a life or death situation.

Jack motions a hand up towards the scoreboard above them. The sound of metal bending rings loud in the gym, causing a few people to look up. Most of the hunters only give it glance before returning to their tasks.

Finally, the last of the metal holding the board up breaks, curling in on itself. Jack lowers the scoreboard carefully, letting it hover towards the floor, before moving his hand towards the gym entrance, the board moving along with it.

The hunters notice, obligingly stepping aside so the board can float over and settle itself on the closed doors.

“Think you can do the backboards?” Adam asks.

“Sure,” Jack says, moving to face one of the basketball rings. He raises a hand towards it, focused, and the metal holding the backboards start to snap away too, curling in on itself.

There’s a loud slap of flesh to the side. Both Adam and Jack turn.

Something’s on top of the gym, and it’s slapped a hand on the glass wall at the highest part of the bleachers.

Another hand follows it, slapping loudly on the glass. Both hands are sliding down, like there’s something slimy coating them.

Adam realizes the dark streaks are blood.

“What the fuck,” he says, and as soon as he does, another hand joins the other too, also slapping on the glass. Then another, and another, and the hands already there start crawling their way downwards, pulling themselves down towards the ground quickly.

Adam sees a flash of a face, but the neck is bent all wrong, and there’s another face right beside it instead of it being attached to a torso. There’s more hands, all crawling downward, but making no effort to break the glass they’re now crawling past on.

_“What the fuck,” _Dean says this time, a little louder than Adam, gun pointed upwards, but not shooting as most of the civilians are up the bleachers, and are themselves trying to get away from the glass, some of them screaming.

Whatever’s outside doesn’t look like anything Adam’s seen before. It looks like human bodies, but all tangled up together, people’s limbs locked onto someone else’s, joints bent wrongly to the point where skin has broken and bones have stabbed through the meat. He sees a face’s eyes look to him, momentarily. They’re wide, alert, as if aware of everything that’s happening. It’s got a huge grin on.

Adam shudders in disgust, backing away.

“What the fuck is happening,” Dean says again.

“Are they – ” Sam looks a little green, which is saying something considering the man’s been in Hell. “ – demons?”

The writhing thing outside continues moving, the sounds of them crawling around extending all the way up to the roof, onto the other side of it, and then eventually to the other side of the gym. Every patch of glass they can see gets covered by bloody, intertwined flesh.

“Wait,” Dean says. “This – these aren’t demons.”

“They’re not?” Jack asks.

“No, this is…there’s a level in Hell, where the dead are just lumped together in a really small space,” he says. “These are the poor bastards from the Third Circle.”

** _Don’t shoot them, they’re with us! _ **

“Belphegor?” Adam asks. “What crazy fucking idea did you have now?”

**_The angels were breaking into the school, _**he says. Adam can hear the absolute glee in his voice. **_So, we made a barricade._**

“I hate you,” Dean says. “You slimy motherfucker. I hate you.”

**_You come up with something better, _**Belphegor says. **_Do you know how fucking thick the mass of all of these bodies is? This is impenetrable especially with angelic warding -_**

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear _anything else!” _Dean yells. A few people stare at him, confused, but he doesn’t seem to care that he looks like he’s talking to himself since no one other than a few people can hear the mindlink.

“The angels are gonna have a hell of a time trying to get through, at least,” Sam says.

_“Don’t encourage him,”_ Jack calls out.

“Just – everyone who needs help, get to the infirmary.” Dean points to the commentator’s booth. “Jack, Adam, you’re helping.”

Both of them nod, quickly moving towards the stairs for the booth. Even if Adam doesn’t have powers, he can still do first aid so Jack has time to attend to everybody.

“The rest of you, stand guard,” Dean says. “We’re not done here yet.”

“It’s up to Michael,” Jack says, as he and Adam ascend the stairs. The lights are still off, busted. There’s gotta be a lighter here somewhere.

Adam nods. They’ve all bought themselves time in protecting the civilians, as best as they can. They’ve done their part.

“It’s up to Amara.”

* * *

“We’re gonna have to lure him outside,” Michael says. “But be sure to keep him at a close distance, so we can push him into the walls.”

Around them, the fight between Lucifer and Chuck is still waging, both players fueled by pure rage. If the Cage hadn’t been completely limitless aside from the mouth of it, Hell probably would have been obliterated by now.

“Gabriel, I’m gonna need you to hit us both,” Michael says. “Give us a huge boost up towards the top. I’ll fight him, make sure he doesn’t get away. Raphael, you keep an eye on the whole thing.” He points to his sister. “When you see the chance, shoot him into the wall.”

“Understood,” she says.

Michael pauses. “Do not hesitate, not for a second. If you have to shoot me, do it.”

Raphael’s eyes widen, for a moment. Even Gabriel has a look of surprise flash across his face, though he says nothing.

Raphael nods, after a few seconds.

“Understood,” she repeats.

“Amara, you stay alert,” Michael says. “As soon as Chuck’s shot.” He pauses. He might die. “You know what to do.”

Amara nods as well.

“Five minutes to alert Lucifer as to what’s happening. Anyone of us will do. After those five minutes, whether or not we’ve passed on the message, Gabriel’s throwing me and Chuck up, understand?”

He gets a series of nods in response. 

“Good,” he says. He’s still in his armor, he’s still got his sword. They can do this.

He looks up, just as Chuck rips through the throat of another dragon that Lucifer’s formed to spring out of the ocean. Lucifer’s already flying halfway to meet him, sword clashing right against Chuck’s own.

Michael steels his jaw. Right.

He counts. Three. Lucifer strikes a blow to their father’s shoulder. Two. Chuck swipes at him in rage. One. Chuck shoves him back with a blast of energy.

_Now._

_“Raphael,” _Michael says, and the sphere they’re in goes down, all of them falling as soon as it does, but the others are quick to move. He feels someone already grabbing him, pulling their arm back, and throwing him right at Chuck.

He swings his sword this time. Chuck catches it with a hand, the blade digging into him, so Michael shifts it into a scythe, the handle of it caught in Chuck’s grip.

The blade stabs into the man’s lungs.

Michael feels Raphael fly past him, likely to find Lucifer, because Gabriel’s sounding out his trumpet below. He holds onto the handle of the scythe as tight as he can, just as a powerful wave hits them both, rocketing them up. A second later, the illusion falls away, the rain disappearing and the roar of the ocean underneath them vanishing.

Chuck holds onto the handle of the scythe and pulls, trying to get the blade out. Michael shoves it forward, blood gushing onto Chuck’s clothes and out of his back at the movement.

Gabriel’s trumpet sounds out below them again, louder this time. Michael doesn’t dare look up to see the top of the Cage as they continue their ascent, keeping his hold on his weapon as his father tries to wriggle out of it.

A flash of light flies beside them. He only sees Lucifer kick Chuck forward, impaling him further onto the weapon. The force knocks them both to the side a bit, but the pulse from Gabriel’s trumpet keeps them on a steady upwards trajectory, flying past Lucifer as the kick had caused him to stop to deliver the blow.

Chuck bares his teeth, livid. Michael doesn’t let go.

Suddenly, light, a change in the air. Michael feels like he can breathe easier.

They’re out. It’s Hell. They’re in Hell.

Michael! That’s Castiel.

**I see them, **Rowena says, to the rest of the team on the line. **They’re on the move. **

Michael twists with a yell, turning his upper body so as to throw Chuck sideward, but not letting go of his weapon. Both of them start to fall, but he feels a rush of power behind him, and then a hard kick to his back. Lucifer, again.

He and Chuck go flying sidewards.

“You - !” Chuck begins, knowing exactly what all of them have planned, but Michael summons every ounce of his Grace into focus, holding onto his father’s very essence through the weapon it’s manifested into. His hands are burning, he realizes, his physical form unable to take the surge of power, but he holds on, skin almost welded onto the scythe’s handle.

“Again!” Gabriel yells. Lucifer’s behind Chuck, suddenly, and kicks him forward, angled so that they’re still being thrown downwards by the force of the blow.

Chuck’s ribs dig into the handle of the scythe from how hard he’s being pushed forward, and he lets a hand go to grab Michael’s head, violently thrashing, twisting them both around as they fall.

Michael grits his teeth despite the pain. All he has to do is hold on, and not let go. That’s his part of the plan –

Pain.

Hot, blinding pain.

He doesn’t need to look down to know that there’s a large, golden arrow, stabbed through his chest. Not when he can see that the head of it has stabbed itself into Chuck’s as well from the force that Raphael’s put behind it.

The shot is enough to throw them both to the side, pinning them onto the blank canvas that makes up the wall of the Cage. Michael holds on to the scythe, not willing to let go even as he feels his Grace start to bubble up, slipping away from his physical form, as he feels himself slowly erupt.

The wall of the Cage gives way, like water, and he and Chuck both sink into it.

It’s cold.

* * *

When he opens his eyes, he’s lying facedown somewhere. His body doesn’t hurt, surprisingly. He feels as if whatever had happened before, his body is supposed to hurt.

It doesn’t. It doesn’t feel like anything. What is he doing here?

He shifts, sitting up, looking around him. Everything looks dark, not in the way that someone’s shut off the lights or anything, but dark in a way that it looks like he’s staring at an empty part of the universe. Everything in the universe is filled with things, even the parts that people see as empty space. There’s always dust. Air. Atoms. Everything is made out of something, down to the smallest part of it.

This looks like nothing.

He tries to stand, and feels something awkward on his torso. He looks down.

There’s an arrow sticking out of his chest.

He remembers, suddenly. Right. They were fighting, in Hell, in the Cage. They were trying to get Chuck trapped somewhere, and Amara had told them she could try to trap her brother in the Empty. He’d told his siblings to do whatever it takes to get Chuck thrown into the Cage’s walls, even if it meant shooting him.

Looks like he did get shot.

“I feel like I should be grateful for having visitors,” a voice says behind him. He stands, quickly, and turns. “As I think that’s the protocol for these things, but I also don’t ever remember inviting _any _of you pests into my domain.”

Adam’s face stares back at him, but its eyes are blank, and lightless.

“Archangel Michael,” the Empty says. “An unorthodox entrance.”

“Where’s Chuck?”

“Somewhere.” The Empty waves a hand vaguely, the other cradling a wine glass. “I don’t give a shit. What I want to know is…while I’ve told Jack Kline that I did hope we would never see each other again, and he’s honored his promise, I made an exception for the Winchesters to drop by, what with this whole apocalypse thing going on.” It points a finger to him. “But you’re neither Jack Kline nor a Winchester.”

“It was an emergency,” he says, raising his chin in defiance, out of habit, but the movement makes him aware of the fact that there’s an _arrow _sticking out of his chest.

How isn’t he exploding into light, yet?

“That would be because you’re already dead,” the Empty says. When he looks up, the Empty’s gotten closer, the throne it’s sitting on mere feet away from him. It’s sitting so that its back is leaning on one of the arms of the chair, its legs swung over the other. “See, when an angel dies, the Grace erupts into light because it’s escaping from the vessel, escaping from the constraints of the physical world, similar to how human souls ascend and leave the body.”

It swirls the wine in its glass, idly observing it. “That light explodes, and the force of it burns the angel’s wings into the earth – and all of that goes here.” It taps a cane onto the dark surface they’re both on. That cane had definitely not been in its free hand earlier, but it is now.

“But,” the Empty says. “When you got shot, you fell straight in here, so there was no need for your Grace to escape its physical constraint and pass on. Hence.” It looks over to him. “Why you’re not burning up like a dying sun.”

“Ah.”

The Empty swings its legs over, sitting down properly. It lays its cane down its lap.

Michael hears footsteps behind him. He turns, and sees his father, bloody and battered, but walking fine, murder in his eyes.

Wasn’t he supposed to be asleep?

“I’m still not pleased,” the Empty says, but sighs. “Although I suppose I can see why this was necessary.”

“Excuse me,” Chuck says, voice cold, and staring straight at Michael. “I think my son and I have something to finish.”

“You’re not excused,” the Empty says. “I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the angel.” It snaps its fingers. “Eyes here, feathers.”

Michael reluctantly turns away from his father’s irate face. The Empty looks unamused.

“Now, what to do with you,” the Empty says. “Because, you see, everything here goes to a default state of sleep. When someone awakens, it gets…” It frowns. “Loud.”

“Let him be,” someone says, and this time, the Empty does react, eyebrows raising as he looks at someone over Michael’s shoulder. Michael turns around again to see who it is.

“Amara,” he says.

“Mother,” the Empty says. “Fancy to have you visit here.”

Amara inclines her head in acknowledgement. “A surprise to know you still existed in this universe,” she says, and then turns to Chuck, who’s gone silent and is just glaring at her coldly. Her expression softens. She looks sad.

“Brother,” she says.

“Sister,” he says. “You would really try to lock me away.”

“It had to come to this,” she says. “It didn’t have to, but you wouldn’t listen,”

“No, _you _wouldn’t listen,” he says, stepping forward. “You wouldn’t listen to reason when I gave it to you.”

“You’re letting your ego get to you,” she says. “Your _selfishness.”_

“You’re siding with the _humans,” _Chuck says, with such disdain that Michael can’t believe it’s him in the first place. What happened? What happened to the man who created this universe to explore the possibilities of humanity in the first place? Who celebrated free will? Who loved his creation so much he would lock away his own sister and son just to protect it? When had they traded places? “You’re siding with the _Winchesters.”_

“I’m siding with what’s right,” Amara says. “And I think…I think you need time. I need you need to realize exactly why all this is wrong, brother.”

“I don’t need anything,” he says, raising his voice. _“And I certainly don’t need you talking to me about what’s right or wrong.”_

Amara holds a hand up just as Chuck snaps his fingers. It’s like a string’s suddenly been pulled taut, and Michael staggers from the sheer power that rips out from both of them, pulling at each other and not letting go.

“Do you think you can hold me here?” Chuck sneers. “You can push me down into the water, sure, but do you think your measly little creation – ” He glances towards the Empty, who’s now standing beside Michael (when had that happened?), and who only gives the man a blank look “ – could hold me down?”

Amara says nothing. Chuck laughs.

“You’re powerful, yes,” he says. “This place? Not so much.”

“If it can hold the strength of a thousand angels, brother, it can hold you.”

“You forget - ” Chuck smiles. “ - I’m more powerful than any of my angels.”

The Empty suddenly doubles over, clutching its stomach. The wine glass and cane are nowhere to be found now, and since it’s still copying Adam’s form, Michael instinctively goes to its side, trying to summon his Grace to heal whatever’s wrong. His Grace doesn’t respond, snapping him out of it. Right. He’s dead.

The surface underneath them ripples, like water. Michael sees lights below, blinking in and out. Angels. Demons.

He’s right.

Even if Amara can lock him in here for a little while, he can attack the Empty little by little, chipping away at it. The damn thing hates getting woken up, hates being disturbed, and isn’t meant for anything other than guarding its domain. It’s not going to stand much of a fighting chance against Chuck himself, no matter how powerful it is.

Amara appears to come to the same conclusion as he does, eyes widening as she turns to look at the Empty, who’s kneeling on the ground, hunched over.

Michael clenches his fists. He’s dead. He can’t contact anybody anymore.

But Amara can.

“Amara!” he yells. “_Tell the others._”

“What?” She looks surprised, and he doesn’t blame her. If she can’t even lock her own brother up in here, then what chance do the others have?

But –

But the universe revolves around Sam and Dean Winchester. That’s its very purpose. It was conceived to be the world for the Winchester Gospels. The universe recognizes, then, that two of its pillars are Sam and Dean Winchester and trust them to keep it alive, and will do everything in its power to make sure everything falls into place.

And they’re so close. So, so close. But they don’t have Winchester luck.

But the others still back at Earth might.

“Just do it,” he says. She’s not constrained by the Empty, it’s her domain. She’ll be able to connect with everyone easily.

Chuck throws a hand out towards him, and he flies back, the others disappearing from his sight quickly. There are no walls here in the Empty. No doors and no outside. There’s just the vastness, and Michael’s immediately flung into it. He can’t find his way around here.

But he’s dead anyway. This isn’t his fight anymore.

He smiles and closes his eyes. Perhaps he’ll go to sleep.

* * *

Adam collapses, falling to the floor in a heap without so much as a sound. A nearby hunter, the one he’d just help stitch a wound close, yells.

“Adam!” 

Jack glances towards where the noise is, but has to turn back to his task at hand. His patient is steadily losing blood, and he needs to focus on this first.

His eyes haven’t stopped glowing for hours, having gone straight from fighting to healing up everyone he can. So far, they haven’t had any other breaches, so that means Belphegor’s defense is doing well and they’ve been able to catch their breath here, but they have a lot of injured people, civilians included.

“Get him on the bed, get him – ”

Jack closes up the wound, reconnecting the hunter’s arm back together. Job done, he immediately turns on his heel, pushing past people to kneel beside Adam.

“Adam? _Adam.”_

He crouches down lower, trying to see if Adam’s unconscious, but to his surprise, he’s awake. His eyes are open, wide, as if in shock. He looks like he’s seen something terrible.

“Let’s get him on the bed, kid,” someone says. Jack moves aside for the hunters to carefully lift Adam up and place him on the bed.

That look of shock stays on his face, and his hands are shaking. When Jack hazards to put a hand over his forehead, he’s freezing.

He stares up at the ceiling, but he looks like he’s not seeing anything at all.

“…Adam?” Jack tries.

No answer.

Jack’s violently pulled to the side as he feels something tug at the mindlink, the force of whatever’s happened enough to physically throw him around.

“Kid!”

Someone catches him before he can crack his head on the edge of the bed. They help him stand back up, slowly so he doesn’t accidentally throw up from dizziness. Everything’s blurry, and spinning, and it feels like there’s something missing, but he can’t tell what it is.

What was that? Castiel asks. Jack, are you okay?

“I’m good,” he murmurs, both for his father and for the hunters holding him up.

A few seconds later, Sam pokes his head past the doorway, also looking like he has a headache. Jack’s willing to bet Dean’s looking the same.

“Jack?” he asks.

“Adam’s – Adam’s collapsed,” Jack says.

“Shit.”

**_What the fuck was that? _**Belphegor asks. **_Everybody okay?_**

Jack can barely make out what’s going on in the undercurrent of the mindlink, as everything feels far too muddy. It’s like looking into fogged-up glass. He knows there’s something happening, but he can’t make it out because there’s too much, and his brain is tuning it out.

**Everyone, **he can hear Rowena saying. **Everyone – **

**_Wait. Wait, wait, wait. _**Panic blooms from Belphegor’s end. **_I can’t feel –_**

“He’s dead,” Adam whispers, so softly that Jack’s surprised he even hears it. But he does, and his mind grinds to a silent halt as soon as he does.

Adam turns to him, with that terrified look on his face. “Michael’s dead.”

No.

No, no, no.

They just got him back. They _just _got him back, this can’t be happening. _They just got him back_ and they haven’t even seen him yet, he can’t be gone.

**_I can’t feel him on the link, _**Belphegor says, frantic. **_I can’t feel him on the link. What the fuck. What the FUCK._**

Something warm hits Jack’s collarbone. He lifts a hand up to his cheeks. His fingers come away wet.

He’s crying.

**_Michael! _**It feels like Belphegor’s overturning everyone’s thoughts. Jack physically winces as he feels the tremor of power run through him. **_Michael, answer, you dumb fuck!_**

Jack wipes at his face, but he can’t stop crying. His head hurts, his chest hurts, everything’s blurry, and he _can’t stop crying._

There’s only silence down the line.

Belphegor quiets. The sort of still that follows denial.

Jack doesn’t know how long he stands there, but eventually, he hears Adam move to grab the pillow underneath him and to put it over his face instead. Seconds later, he hears soft sobbing.

Michael’s dead.

He only realizes he’s been pushed to sit down when his back leans against the chair. The hunters have brought him one to sit on.

They lose people all the time. That was the whole thing about being a hunter. Jack’s no stranger to that. He’s lost all his friends from apocalypse world, he’s hurt Mary, he’s seen allies go down like flies.

But this is _Michael. _He’s an archangel. He’s not supposed to die. Not him. Not one of his best friends.

He’s barely paying attention when Amara’s thoughts break past the haze of his grief. She’s saying something, something about Chuck, about them being in the Empty. Something’s going on.

He forces himself to tune back into reality. That’s what Michael would want, right?

**_I need your help, _**Amara is saying. **_There has to be something to weaken my brother further. At his state – at his state, even the Empty won’t be a match for him._**

Right. They’re still fighting Chuck.

_How the hell are we gonna do that? _Dean asks.

**I can’t think of anything either, **Rowena says.

_That’s like asking for a miracle, at this point, _Dean says. _A fucking Hail Mary. Something so batshit crazy it might just work._

“Wait!” Sam says, outside. He catches himself saying that out loud and taps into the link. **What about – what about that bingo card thing you guys did? Adam and Jack, I mean? Can’t you do that again?**

Jack freezes.

Slowly, he digs around his pockets, until he feels a folded piece of cardboard. He takes it out, unfolding it and straightening out the creases.

It’s his bingo card.

He’s won.

Of course. He’d forgotten. He’d been marking the card off the whole time he’s had it, laughing along with the others while trying to navigate the insanity of the situation, watching Belphegor being a shit, hoping that somehow they’d be able to get Michael back unscathed.

He tries to remember what Adam’s written down on his own card, since he’s not in any state to help right now. Jack’s smart. Jack learns fast. He’d figured things out mere minutes after his birth, after all. He can remember a few Enochian sigils.

There’s still blood on his hands from all the fighting earlier, since he hasn’t had time to heal his own wounds. They’re only scrapes, minor cuts, even if some of them are on his hands. The wrongness of the decision doesn’t hit him until after he stares at the sigils on the back of the bingo card, written in his own blood. 

They need to weaken Chuck. They can’t kill him, because his very essence holds the universe up. That essence needs to continue to exist somewhere, even if it’s not within his reach.

Jack holds the card up.

_“I invoke the rules of the universe,” _he recites._ “I invoke the law of balance, for actions have consequence and everything is the product of the history before it. I call upon the threads in the fabric of existence that answers to causation, that says everything in this universe answers to everything within it.”_

The card in his hand starts to glow, a bright gold just like his eyes.

_“With the authority I have as a part of this world, I demand what is rightfully mine.”_

Adam had spoken carefully, earlier. The card only works once. He’s got to be specific with his prize, or at least word it in a way that gets the result he needs. Chuck needs to lose the ability to fight back.

_“Every victory implies something to be won,” _Jack says.

He’s got to do it.

For everyone. He’s got to save the world.

“I demand Chuck’s power be forfeit.”

It’s like the room bleeds into nothing. One second, he’s in the infirmary, holding up a glowing card, and the next, before he can even blink, everything’s dark and blank and _Empty, _and he’s sitting in the middle of nowhere, watching someone with Adam’s face hunched over in pain, Amara standing right across Chuck, both of their powers pulled taut against each other as Amara tries to shove Chuck into unconsciousness and Chuck pushes against it.

He stares, not knowing what else to do, and both siblings turn to him in shock at the intrusion.

“Jack?” Amara asks.

The card in his hand explodes into gold light, racing up his arm like cracks of light on his skin. When he looks up, he’s already standing right next to Chuck, not knowing when that had even happened, but he understands, suddenly, what he has to do.

Jack puts his hands on Chuck’s face, _furious. _

_This is for Michael, _he thinks. _And Adam. And Cas and Sam and Dean and Amara and everyone you’ve ever hurt. _

The man’s eyes glow gold as well as Jack digs into his very core, greedily snatching up every drop of power and taking it for himself. He feels like his skin is stretching, like he’s suddenly become too much for his body, like his bones are running out of space for all of him.

And then he lets Chuck go, feeling nothing but emptiness before him.

He lets out a breath. Can he even breathe here?

Chuck stares at him, in shock, in denial, and he looks down at his hands, and then back to Jack.

There is fear in his eyes. _Good._

“What have you done?” he asks. “What have you _done?”_

“Nothing you didn’t deserve,” Jack says, already stepping away. He backs up, until he’s right beside the Empty, gently lifting it up to its feet.

It looks like him now, as it straightens up. He wonders how it does that, if it does it on purpose or if it’s something it can’t control, like it has to latch onto the image of someone or someone from their memories. He should ask.

Chuck looks furious as Jack turns his attention back to him.

“How dare you,” the man says, because he’s nothing but a man now. “How dare you, _how dare you – ”_

“That’s enough, brother,” Amara says, sadly. “We’re done here.”

“We’re not done until I say we’re done.”

“On what authority?” the Empty asks, cutting in. “You’re nothing now.”

“I am – ”

“Nothing,” Jack repeats. Is it wrong to feel satisfied? To feel vicious? To feel vindicated? “It’s over, Chuck.”

Chuck looks like he still wants to say something, but the Empty raises its hand.

“Enough,” it says. “You’ve disturbed this place long enough already.” It gives Chuck a glare, then Amara, of all people, and then Jack. “I said I never wanted to see you again. Get the fuck out.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“All of us?”

“All of you,” the Empty says.

“But – ” He motions to Chuck. “What about him?”

“What _about _him?” the Empty says. “I have no use for a man.”

It shoves Jack backwards, away from it, and poises its fingers to snap. Just before it does, Jack swears he’d seen it smile.

* * *

Belphegor feels the shift in the air even before the Shedim he’s currently sharing a mind with – the one who’s currently carrying his physical body – looks up. She smashes an angel’s head in with a crowbar, distracted for a second, before looking up again.

Something’s different.

“Feel that, boss?” she asks.

_Yeah._

Something’s odd. Not any sort of odd, as far as he can tell, because it’s too early to say if it’s good or bad or dangerous, but it’s just…odd. Like someone’s taken a polisher to the sky, or a new sort of material to the clouds. It’s like everything’s been given a repaint, and it’s still the same thing, still looks the same and works the same, but something’s…new. Odd. It’s odd. That’s the most he can say about it in his confusion.

Even some of the angels are stopping, looking up as if trying to figure out what’s wrong.

“This air tastes gold,” the Shedim says.

_Can you stop saying weird shit, please._

“It does, though,” she says, and then turns away from the fight, walking towards the school. She puts a hand on the fleshy mass in front of her – the tangled bodies from the Third Circle that has wrapped itself around the building in order to protect it from any angel trying to get inside, angel wardings carved all over it – and starts scaling it to get to the roof.

_What the hell are you doing?_

“Something’s coming,” she says. “I wanna get a good whiff of this first.”

_It’s probably the stench of a million bodies all tangled together like a more fucked-up version of the human centipede. _

She snickers, still climbing up. Belphegor rallies against her mind, but makes no move to overtake, for now. He can see, through the eyes of all the ghosts and the demons, that the angels have stopped, almost as if they’re trying to figure out what’s wrong too.

“This air tastes clear,” the Shedim says. “It tastes bright.”

_Just once. Can you say something normal._

“It feels new,” she says, hoisting herself up to where the roof should be but is nothing but a floor of bodies. “Here, look – ”

He’s pushed to the forefront of the body without any warning, and he almost falls, but catches his balance at the last second, making sure his own physical body doesn’t fall off of this one. He has no idea what the hell she’s saying, how the fuck someone can even taste air with a physical form as limited as the human body, but he tries to take a deep breath anyway.

“What the fuck,” he mutters.

He feels warm, all over. He realizes that the storm clouds above them have made everything so cold, and that it’s actually freezing out here. But something feels like it’s wrapped around him now, like a comfortable, well-worn but well-loved blanket. Like he’s sitting in front of a fireplace. Like when they’d stolen some bikes and drove them into a river and everyone’d argued about it for shits and giggles even when none of them were really serious about it.

It feels like he’s by the beach at dawn, everything around him quiet and peaceful, and he’s only watching the sunrise and nothing else. The world isn’t ending. There’s no big thing he has to take care of. He’s just being, and everything is new and beautiful and it’s the start of a good day.

It feels like he’s standing in the halls of the Silver City, when everything was brand new; when the halls were bright and pristine not from any silly thing like paint, or tile, or glass, but from pure light, and there was nothing but calm and peace and curiosity. It feels like when he was young and new to everything, and he’d been given a name and a job to do, and someone was holding his hand as they led him through the halls, telling him they were going to do wonderful things, they were going to _create, _they were going to build something called a universe and it was going to be _wondrous._

“Boss?” the Shedim asks, taking control of the body for a moment. “You’re crying.”

He lifts a hand up to touch this body’s face.

He _is_ crying.

“This feels like Heaven,” he whispers, disbelief in his voice. “This feels like – like _Heaven, _and I – ”

He remembers. He remembers this is what Heaven had felt like.

How long has it been since he’s felt this?

“I hadn’t – I couldn’t remember – ” He laughs, mirthlessly. “I couldn’t remember, because it’d felt different. Everything felt _different, _it felt wrong, and I didn’t even realize, but _this –_ ”

This feels like home.

_[ **This** is what Heaven feels like? ] _

“Yeah,” he says, sitting down, because he can’t trust himself to keep standing when he’s also carrying the weight of his physical body around, not when he’s crying like this. “Yeah, kid, this is what Heaven feels like.”

Wonder thrums through the Shedim’s thoughts, and when he laughs this time, it’s real. It’s joyous.

He’s missed this.

_[ Oh, someone’s here. ]_

He leans over the edge of the roof, seeing a familiar blonde head of hair.

“Jack?” he mutters.

Jack’s standing in front of the crowd, looking out at all the ghosts and the angels and demons in front of him, all frozen in confusion at what’s happening. There’s something different about him, not just the fact that he looks a little less ratty than he usually looks to Belphegor.

Belphegor switches viewpoints, to a ghost on the ground, right in front of the crowd around Jack.

Jack raises a hand in his signature awkward greeting. “Hello,” he says.

“What have you done?” an angel whispers, one close enough to the ghost Belphegor is seeing through for him to hear.

A look of sorrow passes Jack’s face. Whatever’s happened, there’s no going back from it.

“What I needed to,” Jack says. “It’s unfair for this whole world to pay the price for the disappointment of few.”

“What have you _done, _Nephilim?” another one says, this one with more horror in its voice than rage.

Belphegor switches back to the Shedim again, this time seeing not with the body’s physical eyes but borrowing its true sight.

Oh.

Oh, god.

Well, oh _Jack, _apparently.

“You know we’ll never serve you,” an angel says, bloodied and battered and missing one eye. They lift their head in defiance, and around them, their brethren do the same.

“You don’t,” Jack agrees. “You serve humanity.”

A hush falls over the crowd.

“Do you remember?” Jack asks. “What you were born for? What you were supposed to usher in?”

Flashes of memory come up in Belphegor’s mind, and this time, they stay. There’d been the plan for the universe, the plan for the Garden, and the announcement that creatures called _humans _were to be born.

_“I can’t do it, Father,” _Lucifer had said. _“I can’t bow down to these humans.”_

That had been why all of this happened, why Heaven split. That was the beginning of it all, Winchester Gospels aside.

“You were created to serve humanity,” Jack says. “To move in their best interests. You were created to love them.”

He gets a few steely glares from the angels for that.

“I don’t need you to serve me. I don’t _want _you to serve me, or love me, or any of that,” Jack says. He motions around them, at the carnage, at the school, at the town.

At the world, Belphegor realizes.

“All I’m asking you is one thing,” Jack says. “Let this world live. _Please.”_

Nobody answers. Everyone just stares at him, like they can’t believe what they’re seeing, can’t believe what they’re hearing.

Do they feel it, Belphegor wonders, the way the air has changed, the way everything seems to be so much brighter, like the universe has restarted and gotten its shine back again? Do they feel the change, even though he himself can’t figure it out? And what _has _changed, though, other than the fact that Jack’s the one holding the reins this time?

He nudges the Shedim gently, and she lets him have a turn at the forefront again. He tries to open up his sight, his senses, tries to catch exactly what’s different with the composition of reality. It’s what he’s good at, what he’d been doing in Heaven and then later Hell when he’d been assigned to design weapons. It’s why he’s so good at designing weapons, because he taps into the fabric of the universe and figures out which threads to pull and use to his advantage.

Everything feels so comforting, so warm, so…

So loving.

Jack loves this world.

“For God so loved the world…” Belphegor recites, and then puts a hand to his mouth before he can start sobbing again. It’s not that he even wants to cry, it’s just that – it feels like he’s been tired, for so, so long, and this is the first time in forever he’s felt like he can rest.

Nobody has loved this world in forever.

“Please,” Jack says again.

Belphegor switches to another ghost, and then a demon, trying to see what the angels are doing. Most of them look shocked, a few look angry, and some…some just look sad. Like they’re tired too, like they’ve just woken up and have been called to battle and now that they can feel the warmth of Heaven again, they’re just so confused because what the fuck are they fighting for?

Hadn’t it felt like this the first time, too? The first war in Heaven? Nobody had understood why the fuck they were fighting in the first place then, right?

An angel that’s currently strangling the demon Belphegor’s manning the consciousness of pulls away, taking back his sword. He wipes at his face. He’s crying too.

His angel blade disappears from his hand.

Another angel, the one just a few feet away from them, turns to him, angry. _“Adnachiel.”_

“I’m done,” Adnachiel says, raising his hands up. “I’m done.”

“What on earth are you talking about?!”

“God in Heaven, _don’t you feel it?!” _Adnachiel motions around them wildly. “Don’t you feel that? We haven’t – we haven’t felt…” His breath gets caught in his throat, the reaction strangely human. He takes a few moments to calm himself down, straightening up after a few minutes. “He’s _right. _We were made to serve and love humanity, to love this world. That was why Lucifer fell in the first place.”

“Adnachiel, this is heresy.”

“The only reason we’re still fighting the war until today is _because of that.” _Adnachiel points to Belphegor – to the demon he’d been fighting earlier – but Belphegor mistakes it for himself at first and flinches. “The reason why Hell and demons exists is because of that. And _frankly,” _Adnachiel spits out. “I’ve never understood all this mess in the first place. What sets us apart from Hell if we hate this place so much?”

“It was supposed to end,” another angel says. Surprisingly, Belphegor recognizes this one as his memories are starting to come back to him. It’s Mendrion. “All of this was supposed to end.”

“To bring about paradise,” Adnachiel says. “Or whatever the fuck the whole Winchester Gospels thing was about, but Father respected their choice before, right? When they’d changed the plan?”

“Don’t you dare blaspheme,” the first angel says. “Our Father – ”

“He’s alive,” Jack interrupts. “He’s…his sister is with him.”

All the angels turn to him then, in rapt attention.

“But he’s angry,” Jack says. “At everything. At humanity. At the universe.”

“At everything?” Mendrion asks, voice soft. Afraid.

Jack nods.

“He wants to destroy everything,” Jack says. “And…I don’t know if you guys have always been ready to die for him, to serve him. I don’t know if any of you are scared.”

Adnachiel is. Belphegor can see it in the way his hands tremble.

Trying to hammer in some goodwill and maybe bridge a broken celestial gap, Belphegor nudges the demon he’s seeing through to reach out. There’s a weak push against him, like they’re irritated they have to do so, but they reach out, brushing their bloody fingers against Adnachiel’s arm. The angel turns to them, confused.

The demon places a comforting hand against his forearm.

It’s okay. They’re all afraid.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Jack says. “We can live. We can try to fix everything. We can…” He stops. He also looks like he’s about to cry. “We can start again. For real, this time. No big plans. No grand schemes. No grey men or cannon fodder or worldbuilding side characters to be thrown aside for the main story. Just…existing.” He smiles. “Everyone being free.”

“But,” an angel starts. Belphegor recognizes this one too. Zachariel. “We’ve always had a plan. We’ve always existed _for _a plan.” He looks terrified. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Jack’s smile softens. “We can figure that out together,” he says. “But you’ll have to give everyone a chance to.”

Nobody says anything, for a moment. Nobody moves.

Then, Zachariel throws down his sword. So does Mendrion. And then the others do the same, one by one, dropping their weapons as a sign of surrender, as they see everyone else doing so.

Belphegor returns to the Shedim, relief flowing all over him.

“Look at that,” the Shedim says. “They taste a little brighter now too.”

_Yeah? _He asks.

“Yep,” she says. “They taste like summer.”

_You know what, _he says, and he would have laughed if he’d had control of the body. _Just this once, I’m gonna let the shit you say slide._

* * *

It’s hours before everything gets cleaned up, mostly because Belphegor has to return the mass of bodies from the Third Circle back into Hell. They’re quick to move, though, dragging themselves off of the school building and crawling onto the streets instead, spilling out like a large, winding carcass all over the roads.

“That is,” Adnachiel says. _“Something.”_

“I hate it too, buddy, but I was out of ideas,” Belphegor says. He’s still using the Shedim’s body since he needs to see where the whole thing is going, and so it doesn’t accidentally destroy anything.

“Very creative, but, disgusting.”

“Using bodies was _my _idea, by the way.” The Shedim shoves him back into the backburner for a moment to interrupt. He wrangles control right back after a second.

Adnachiel gives him a weird look, but only laughs after.

Ahead, one of the hands on the fleshy hivemind pushes off a window wrong. A lump of the whole thing falls onto a tree.

“Oh – oh goddamnit.” Belphegor pinches the bridge of his nose. Well, there’s the property damage.

Jack, approaching from behind him, laughs.

“Speak of the devil,” Belphegor says.

“Not really,” Jack says.

“Okay, smartass, we get it,” he says. Jack laughs again, softly.

As it tapers off, both of them quiet, growing serious.

“How do you feel?” Belphegor asks.

Jack takes a while to answer.

“Sorry,” he says.

“For what?”

“For Chuck.”

“For _Chuck?” _Belphegor turns to him, bewildered, but the look on Jack’s face makes him bite down everything else he’d been about to say. The poor boy looks mournful.

“Yeah,” he says. “He loved everything once, you know? All of this. The Earth, humanity, creation – the idea of free will. The _angels.” _Jack pauses. “For as much as Lucifer hates him now, they’d loved each other like a family once. That was why it hurt, why there was a war…”

He trails off. Belphegor nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I remember.”

That’d been why Lucifer had rebelled in the first place. He’d loved his father too much, loved the creation he’d brought into being too much that he’d been horrified the second he’d seen the possibility of the humans destroying everything.

He remembers Lucifer leading him along the hallways, when he’d been young and new, and he’d looked up at the archangel as he’d laughed and shone bright and said, _“We’re going to create something called a universe.”_

“You do?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” Belphegor says. “It’s still spotty, but…everything’s coming back.”

“What triggered it?”

“Everything feels like Heaven, right now,” Belphegor says. “It’s like – like I’ve been away for so long and then something just reminded me of it and then I realized, oh, I’d never forgotten what this felt like. The distance just made me think I forgot, and now that something’s reminded me of it, it’s all rushing back.”

Jack nods. “He grew angry, over time,” he says. “I don’t know why. I don’t think I can ask him. Maybe it’s just…just one of those things where sometimes you wake up and you don’t recognize yourself anymore. You’re angrier. You’re meaner. You’re…wrong.” He pauses. “And your younger self would mourn if they saw you.”

“Do you think he’d mourn how much he’s changed?”

“If he’s forced to,” Jack says. “If he has no choice to, I think he could.” He smiles. “Humans do it all the time. It’s painful, to realize you don’t know yourself anymore, but most of them find their way back, somehow.”

“Hm.” Belphegor snorts. “Where is the old man, anyway?”

“With Amara,” Jack says. “The Empty booted us out of their place and she told me she’d take care of him. She’s somewhere.” He looks up. “Halfway across the world, far away from here.”

“You can feel her, right?” Belphegor asks. “Because you two are the balance now?”

“Yes,” Jack says. “We’re…in harmony.”

“Good to know,” Belphegor says. “Good to know.”

Another pause comes over them. The fleshtrain in front of them crashes into another tree, knocking it down.

“So…Michael,” Belphegor starts.

“In the Empty,” Jack says. “He’s dead. He’s actually dead.”

“Can you…”

“I don’t know,” Jack says. “I know Cas has been brought back to life by Chuck before but, I don’t know if the Empty’s going to be keen on listening to _me.” _He winces. “It doesn’t like me very much.”

Belphegor glances to the school. The whole thing is slimy and covered with blood.

“Fuck. Poor Adam,” he says. “That poor kid.”

“We’ll find a way,” Jack says. “Maybe we won’t find it right now, but we’ll try. We’ll keep trying.”

Belphegor nods. Then he frowns as a thought comes to mind. He digs around his pockets at first, before realizing this isn’t his physical form.

He forces himself to switch back to his body, groggily opening his eyes. The Shedim crouches to let him fall back down on the ground gently.

Slowly, he starts riffling around his pockets. He knows he’s got it here somewhere. The Shedim he’d gone to hell with had reached out to the bingo card he’d had, and he’d felt power from him. It should be here.

He pulls a folded piece of cardboard out of his jacket’s pocket. The Shedim _had _teleported it back to his body after all.

“Crazy son of a bitch,” he says. “I owe you for that one.”

“You have your bingo card?” Jack asks.

“Yep.” He looks up to meet the kid’s eyes, a grin plastered on his face. Even if they have no guarantee that Jack can bring Michael back…

Well. Their Hail Mary pass hasn’t failed them yet.

* * *

He’d fallen asleep. He doesn’t even know when he’d fallen asleep, but he had, and his head hurts from all the crying he’s done.

Adam stares at the darkness around him. He hasn’t removed the pillow from his face yet. He doesn’t have the energy to. He’s too tired. Everything hurts, his head hurts, his throat is dry as fuck, and he thinks he’s about to get a headache.

This sucks.

The pillow above him moves. It’s being pulled away from him, and he tries to grab it back but the brightness of the lights overhead make him shield his eyes instead.

“Give that back,” he says, hoarsely. He needs some water, but he doesn’t want to stand.

A cool hand presses onto his forehead. Slowly, the oncoming headache he feels starts to ease, and the fatigue on his body ebbs away.

“Jack?”

“I look away for five seconds,” a voice that isn’t Jack’s says, a voice Adam’s gotten thousands of years to be familiar with. “And you make a mess of things.”

Adam’s eyes snap open, the brightness around him be damned. He turns his head, scrambling to sit up, but he’s gently pushed back down on the bed before he can fall.

Stupid fucking human eyes and their need to adjust to their surroundings first. It’s taking too fucking long for him to see the room clearly.

Michael’s looking at him fondly, a soft smile on his face.

“Hello, Adam,” he says.

“You…” Adam stares at him. His words aren’t working. At least, not the way he wants them to. “You – you – _son of a bitch!”_

He grabs the pillow in Michael’s other hand and thwacks him on the head with it.

“Piece of shit! I cried! I _cried! **You fucking asshole!**”_

To his credit, the angel just takes it, barely even budging as Adam keeps hitting him. He doesn’t say a word, for all the five minutes Adam spends swatting at him.

Finally, Adam gives him one last hit, before he drops the pillow on the bed, exhausted.

Michael patiently opens his eyes, having closed them when Adam was repeatedly attempting to kill him with the pillow.

“Don’t do that again,” Adam says. “Don’t – don’t do – don’t…”

His hands are shaking now, whatever burst of adrenaline he’d gotten from the shock of seeing Michael alive giving way to fear.

Michael stands. He’s barely got his arms around him before Adam’s clinging to him like a lifeline.

In a way, maybe he is.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I had to make sure everything would go well. I rather like seeing you alive.”

“Stop being such a dramatic asshole,” Adam says. “You’re a prick. You’re such a fucking prick. Oh my _god.”_

Michael snickers. Adam moves away to look up at him. There’s a joke he’s not getting here.

“You’ll figure it out later,” Michael says, ruffling his hair. “Get some rest. You look like you just crawled out of the grave.”

Adam grabs the pillow and hits him again.

* * *

It’s hours before they can get to the cemetery. Michael’s volunteered to go ahead of them to help Castiel and Rowena out of Hell, and quell whatever the situation down there is, in case Jack’s call to stand down hasn’t been as well-received as it had been topside. Sam and Dean still have to make sure all the civilians are alright and that as many people as possible are accounted for, while Belphegor and Jack are taking care of the mess outside.

When the gym is finally cleaned out and the civilians are assigned rooms to sleep in, so they don’t all have to crowded in a room freshly-bleached of blood (only because there’s still bodies upon bodies of angelic vessels littering the streets and have yet to be cleaned up, and the poor citizens of this town have already seen enough traumatizing shit), the others finally step outside to survey the damage.

A few trees have fallen over, and there’s blood smeared all over the outside of the school. Belphegor waves from where he’s sitting, and in the distance, a walking lump of human bodies all fused together steadily worms its way towards the cemetery.

“I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime,” Dean says, as he, Sam and Adam approach Belphegor and Jack. He points to the large shadow of Hell’s finest body horror in the distance. “But I don’t ever want to see that thing walk the earth again.”

Belphegor snorts. “Like you haven’t seen it back when you were downstairs.”

“And I’ve been trying to forget,” Dean says. “Get up. Let’s go.”

It’s a long, but silent walk to the cemetery. The ghosts around town are currently gathering up as many corpses as they can for a mass funeral later, and so that when the civilians come back out, they won’t have to see their town turned into the aftermath of a warzone. The Shedim who’s been carrying out Belphegor’s body is with them, kind enough to give the demon a piggyback ride again so he doesn’t collapse out of pure exhaustion and actually go comatose.

Eventually, as the sun rises in the horizon, orange light peeking past the spaces in the thick stormclouds, they arrive at the cemetery. It takes them a few more minutes to get to the large rift in the earth where all of this started.

They wait, silent. Everyone seems too tired to say anything. It’s expected. They’ve just fought for their lives. And they’ve _won. _

What do you say, hours after the end of the world?

A hand shoots out of the earth, gripping the edge of the rift. Sam kneels down to grab it and help the person up. It’s Rowena.

“Thank you, Samuel,” she says. She looks like she’s seen better days, tears on her sleeves and her hair askew, but she’s alive. She’s well and alive. “We have some guests, in case you haven’t been notified yet.”

“Guests?” Sam shares a look with Dean. Rowena doesn’t look too alarmed, so he and his brother only keep an eye on the rift as she walks past them.

Another hand holds onto the earth and pulls himself up. Dean’s right there to help Cas out, steadying him as soon as he’s on his feet.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I’m good,” Cas says. He turns, looking around immediately. “Jack?”

“I’m here,” Jack says, stepping forward, a hand out as if to comfort his father. “I’m okay.”

Castiel wordlessly pulls him in close, pressing a kiss to his temple. Jack laughs, wrapping his arms around his father.

“I’m glad,” Castiel says.

They both stay there, for a while, until eventually Castiel pulls back, taking a good look at Jack, inspecting his face for any cuts or bruises. He pauses as he meets the boy’s eyes, and his expression falls. He looks impossibly old, then, like all the sorrow in the world is on his shoulders.

“I did it,” Jack says. “I did it, Cas. I saved the world.”

“You did,” Castiel says, so much pride in his voice he sounds like he’s about to weep. But. “You did it, Jack.”

“Cas. _Hey_, Cas.” Jack puts a hand on his father’s shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. “It’s okay. I know what sort of burden I’ve taken on myself.” He smiles. “It was worth it, dad. It was _worth it.”_

He laughs again. “Besides,” he says. “I’m not alone, aren’t I? I’ve got everyone here with me, for whatever’s going to happen.”

The look on Castiel’s face softens. He smiles too.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, pulling Jack back into a hug, tears in his eyes. “I’m _so_ proud of you, Jack.”

Jack smiles into the hug, burying his face in his father’s shoulder.

Adam looks at the scene fondly, even as he approaches the rift to help Michael out of the earth, three other people with him. Sam flinches as he sees them, but they all keep themselves at a distance from everyone else, not even saying a word.

“Welcome back, everyone,” Jack says, as he and his father finally step away from each other. He grins, as he looks to the others; to Michael, to Adam and to Belphegor. “Welcome home.”

“Yeah,” Adam says, squeezing Michael’s hand. Belphegor just closes his eyes and lifts his head, smiling, as if in relief that it’s all over.

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this is why i had to split the last chapter into two parts bc the whole thing is around 24k words. as of posting the series finale hasn't yet aired, and i am still in denial that there's only one episode to go and it's all over.
> 
> well, an epilogue for the road. see you on the other side, hunters


	36. EPILOGUE

He hasn’t left his room in weeks.

He takes to this, sometimes. Amara’s used to it, at this point. The month before this, he’d been alright with walking around, doing mundane things like shop for food or dine out, things he used to do as _Chuck Shurley, prophet of the Lord, _when Chuck Shurley was _Chuck Shurley, prophet of the Lord_ and not the literal creator of the universe going on a nuclear rampage. He knows how to do this, how to take care of himself, but some days, he just shuts himself inside the motel, and he doesn’t eat, doesn’t go out. Amara’s not sure if he sleeps.

She wonders if he’s scared of death. Of oblivion. She wonders if people like them can have souls, powerless or not. Would he just cease to exist, after this? Or would he answer to the rules of his universe now, because _Chuck Shurley, prophet of the Lord _was born human, with a human mother and father and a human past, even if Chuck is technically the guy who kickstarted this whole universe in the first place. Would he answer to that now, then, with the deified part of him gone?

She knocks on the door, tentatively.

“Chuck?”

No answer. She could just show up in his room, but she doesn’t think that would help. It would probably just rub it in his face that he can’t do something as simple as that anymore.

“You have to eat, brother,” she says.

Still no answer. She tries the doorknob.

It turns.

The room he’s in isn’t messy. In fact, it’s very much in order, everything right where it was when he’d rented it.

It’s untouched. All he’s done since he’s gotten here is sit, or eat when he does eat, and lie down on the ratty mattress this stale little room has. He’s lying down there, now, staring at the ceiling, not asleep.

She sits on the edge of the bed.

“Chuck.”

“What are you still doing here?” he asks.

She sighs. “I’m worried about you, you know.”

He snorts.

“Worried,” he says. “You did this to me.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says. “You know why it had to be done.”

“No, I don’t,” he says. “I don’t understand what is so hard to get about how this world is so flawed, so cruel to itself, and yet you – ” He turns to her then. He actually looks betrayed. “How could you?”

Amara doesn’t answer. She looks away instead.

Eventually, she lets out another sigh. “Do you remember,” she says. “The day you told me about your plans for creation?”

“Clear as day,” he says. “I wanted to make something, and you hated it.”

“I was jealous of it,” she says. “I can’t create, Chuck, and I was…I was terrified that I would lose you to your creations. We only had each other.”

He only hums.

“I couldn’t see what you saw in it, the possibilities you were talking about,” she says. “But you loved it, so much. _So, so much. _You were so excited, you were talking about a garden, and about something you’ve never tried before. You were talking about creating something you couldn’t control, something that could think for itself, and you were curious to see where it would go.” She smiles. “You were talking about free will, something your angels only had a sliver of, and you wanted to know what it could do. What the humans could do with it.”

He doesn’t answer her. The look in his eyes tells her he’s listening, though.

“You weren’t even thinking about stories at that point, yet, you just wanted to know what would happen,” she says. “But above all, there was that love, Chuck. There was that wonder. And that…scared me.”

She turns to him. “That scared me because I thought I already lost you to them.”

He frowns.

“There’s a lot to be talked about, but, I remember that,” she says. “Even after you locked me away, I remember that.”

“What are you saying?” he asks.

“What happened to you, brother?” she asks. “Where did all that love go? That passion? That wonder?” She smiles bitterly. “Did your pride get to you?”

His frown gets deeper, but he doesn’t answer, still. They’ve had this conversation so many times already.

“Do you recognize yourself?” she asks. “Don’t you remember how you were, when this all started? Did you let your ego get in the way of all the reasons you drove yourself to create?”

He looks away at that, turning over so he doesn’t have to face her.

“It’s not too late, you know,” she tries.

“Of course it is,” he says. “Look at me.”

“Your power had to be taken away because you were going mad,” she says. “But it’s not too late to remember how everything used to be. I know it’s been millennia, but didn’t it make you happy? It used to bring you so much joy. What happened?”

He still doesn’t answer her. Maybe he’s just as tired as she is about this whole thing.

But then he does speak. He asks, “Why are you still here?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“But _why?” _he asks. “You think I’m wrong. You think I’m going mad. You think I’ve let myself fall away into – into conceit. Why the hell are you still here?”

Amara pauses. She sighs again.

“Because despite it all, I do love you,” she says. “And I would like to try my best to help you, even if you hate it.” She looks up, towards the windows, covered by curtains. The sunlight is filtering in through the thin cloth.

“I love this world, brother. I love everything you’ve created, and it…saddens me that you can’t see just how wonderful everything you’ve created is,” she says. “I see it, now. All the things you were talking about years, and years, and years ago. I can see it now, brother.”

Gently, she puts a hand on his arm. “I just want you to remember that feeling again.”

He quiets again. She sighs.

As she starts to turn away, she feels a warm hand cover her own. It’s barely there, hovering lightly, but, he’s still done it.

She smiles.

It’s a start.

* * *

“And have you been sleeping on time?”

_“Mom,” _Jack says, looking scandalized even when there’s only three people in the kitchen. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re three years old, Jack,” Castiel says. Kelly motions to him with a hand as if he’s proven her point.

“Yeah, but I’m not like – ” He motions his hand to be somewhere around the height of the table they’re all sitting around. “Not like a _child-_child.”

“But is he taking care of himself, Castiel?” Kelly turns to Cas instead, seeing as her son isn’t giving her a straight answer. Jack sighs.

“He is,” Castiel says. “He’s had bad influences lately, but he’s still taking care of himself, for however long that lasts.”

“Mm, I should visit Earth, sometimes,” Kelly says. “Talk to your friends.”

“I’m finally feeling what teenagers feel when their parents try to talk to their friends,” Jack says, before taking a bite out of his jelly donut. Kelly laughs, loud and bright.

“That’s implying any of them are cool,” Castiel says. “Absolutely none of them are.”

“You know I’m joking, they sound lovely,” Kelly says. “As long as they stop encouraging you to steal things.”

“_Aha_, but it’s usually Hobby Lobby,” Jack says.

Kelly thinks it over for a moment.

“Fair enough,” she says, eventually.

Jack smiles, smug.

There’s a knock on the door. All three of them turn to see Michael poke his head in.

“Hello, Miss Kline,” he says, nodding his head in a greeting.

“Michael,” she says. “You want some coffee?”

“Perhaps next time,” he says. “We’ve business to attend to.”

“Oh, you’re ready, then?” Jack asks.

Michael nods. “Ready. I’ve left Gabriel and Raphael in charge.”

Jack hums, relieved. Even if Gabriel can be a little shit, Raphael will keep everything in line, her brother included. Idly, he wonders how Lucifer’s doing. He’s still on parole, not allowed in Heaven, especially with its fragile state, but it’s not like he wants to be here anyway; his powers have also cut to a fourth just so he doesn’t wreak any havoc on earth. He’s currently somehow slowed down on the urge to commit arson every few months or so. Maybe they should visit him today, just stop by for a little bit.

“Big day today?” Kelly asks.

Jack stuffs the rest of his jelly donut in his mouth, trying to chew everything down as he gathers up his empty plates and cup so he can place them in the sink. “Na iwwy, iff jus ga afew fings’a tay – ”

“Chew, Jack.”

He does, pausing for a few minutes to work through the donut. He swallows and clears his throat. “Not really, we’ve just got a few things to get in order.”

“It’ll only be for a bit, and then we’ll be back here,” Castiel says. “There’s still a lot of work to do in Heaven, after all.”

“Good luck, anyway,” she says, leaning over to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. The young boy smiles. He loves it when his mother does that. He doesn’t get to visit her that often, even with the whole ‘new god’ thing. Hopefully, he’ll be able to, after this.

“Thanks,” he says.

“You too, Cas.” She takes the plates and cup from Castiel’s hands, waving him off as he starts to protest that he can help her. “Don’t worry about it, there’s barely anything to do here in Heaven. I can do a few chores to stave off the boredom.” She laughs. “Besides, Earth’s a little more time-sensitive.”

“True,” Castiel concedes.

“We’ll be right back,” Jack promises. His mother only shakes her head fondly.

“I know,” she says. “Go on. Michael’s waiting.”

Michael doesn’t look like he’s bothered by having to wait though, instead looking at the three of them in understanding. Still, Kelly’s right, so Jack and Cas each give her a hug goodbye, before joining following Michael out of the house and into the hallway, headed for the gateway to Earth.

Heaven’s hallways are always so pristine, gleaming white with tile and metal and glass, but at least they’re not very clinical and cold, these days. There’s actually bit of a calming energy to them now. Michael’s told Jack that it’s reflective of his powers and his demeanor, and Belphegor’s confirmed as much, chortling at something about the power of love and all that.

Jack opens his eyes to a playground as the gateway to Earth opens. He steps out the sandbox he, Michael and Castiel have landed on, breathing in petrichor. He’s always loved the rain. He’ll miss it. There’s probably memories of rain in Heaven, but he’s going to miss it anyway.

“Heya!”

The three of them turn to the monkey bars. There’s a child sitting at the very top, in a bright yellow raincoat. He waves at them, smiling brightly, eyes flickering grey for a moment. It’s one of the Shedim.

“Hello,” Jack says, lifting his hand up in greeting. “Are Belphegor and the others around?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re back at the bunker,” the demon says. “I’m just on gateway duty today, I’m not here to give you any emergency news or anything.”

“Oh, thank you. Good to know.”

Considering the crisis of Heaven being barely held up by angels, at least pre-Hosts-resurrection, Jack had issued a mass recall as soon as possible. They’re still sorting through the numbers and restructuring everything upstairs, but in order to keep things running smoothly on Earth, Belphegor’s had Hell put some shifts in.

The Shedim are more than happy to guard some gateways on certain days. It beats being stuck in some unknown pocket of Hell.

With all three of them on Earth, it’s only a breath away from the bunker. They fly there, quicker than any human can even blink, appearing at the old, seemingly-abandoned entrance that works to deter people from getting any closer, for fear of getting tetanus or getting lost in an old building.

The others are, true enough, gathered around the table when they get inside. Sam’s reading something, Dean and Adam are both sitting across each other, a chessboard between them, and Rowena is in a loveseat nearby, a book in her hands. Belphegor appears to be in an argument with one of the Shedim that’s showed up for something. It’s the one that had carried him around during the attack at the school, months ago.

“But I don’t _want _to rule Hell,” Belphegor says.

Ah. Power vacuum issues.

“Kinda too late for that, boss,” she says. “You already do.”

“But don’t _want to.”_

“Shoulda thought of that before you used Lilith’s Crook, huh,” she says. 

“Ruling Hell?” Castiel asks as he descends the stairs. The others look up at the sound of footsteps. The frown on Dean’s face from his game of chess with Adam eases.

“It’s a mess,” the Shedim says, falling back into an empty seat that suddenly moves itself away from the table and right where she is, so it catches her. “Like, yeah, most of everyone’s back downstairs but…what are we supposed to do, you know?”

“Be hellish,” Belphegor says.

“There is an order to these things,” she says, slapping the back of her hand onto her palm to emphasize her point. “Even I know this, and I’ve literally been living under a rock for years. _You _know this. You were a pencil-pusher.”

“Exactly, I was a pencil-pusher. I don’t do well ruling anything,” he says. “Have you met me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Can you secede power?” Michael asks.

“If there was someone next in line, sure,” Belphegor says. “But all the top demons have been dead for years. Sam’s the Boy King by birthright, but he doesn’t want to rule Hell – ” Sam waves a hand as if brushing that aside as he says that. “ – so that leaves me, the idiot who used Lilith’s Crook. Nobody’s doing a coup right now, for some fucking reason.”

“All the top demons in Hell are dead, you just said,” the Shedim says.

Belphegor points at her. “You throw a coup. Kill me. Right now. _Kill me.”_

“Don’t be dramatic,” Jack says, patting his shoulder as he comes to a stop beside him. “At least your body’s not trying to kill itself every two seconds.”

“You fuckers are just lucky I’ve built up an immunity,” he says.

The Shedim snorts. “You didn’t.”

It had been tricky, considering everyone’s anxiety of what would happen if Hell was let loose again, but, after everything had been stuffed back into where it was supposed to be – the ghosts of the dead back in Hell and every demon had been recalled back downstairs, Belphegor had slowly started giving everyone’s autonomy back. They’d sorted out a rough outline of duties after, with him choosing to honor the contract with the Shedim. He may not be controlling them, but he’s still hyperaware of everything Hell does, courtesy of the Crook and all, so if any of them try anything funny, he’ll know it.

None of them have tried, so far, much too fascinated by the world. They’re just curious, apparently. There’s not much of a lust for destruction with them when they don’t really know what the fuck they’re supposed to destroy and why.

“But someone’s still got to take the job,” Belphegor says, sighing.

“I’ve been living under a rock, I can’t do it, don’t even think about it,” the Shedim says. “None of my siblings are capable either.”

_“Damn it,” _Belphegor says. “If I put an ad out to Craigslist, will someone answer?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rowena says, closing the book she’s been trying to read for the past five minutes and has failed to do so. “I’ll do it.”

Belphegor turns to her, stars in his eyes. “For real?”

“It’s an open position and you hate the job,” she says. “Nobody else is stupid enough to hand out the throne to Hell for free.”

_“Thank you,” _Belphegor says, fake-wiping at his eyes even when there’s no tears coming out of them. “Thank you, I love you.”

“Disgusting,” Rowena says. “But – this is on condition that you get to keep the killer headache. I’ve got enough to think about already.”

“If it means I don’t have to worry about Hell, then deal,” he says. It’s not like any of the Shedim would let anyone use the Crook and get power over them, anyway. He’s earned their trust with him vouching for them to be able to walk the Earth, but he’s aware of their wariness of everyone else, even if they’re on the same team as him.

That, and he’s also a demon. There’s some solidarity to be invoked there.

“I declare you Queen of Hell, and myself a free man,” Belphegor says, eyes flashing yellow for a moment, sending the declaration down to every single poor damned bastard in existence. Must be one hell of a news report, Jack thinks, to just be minding your own business and then hear that there’s a new ruler in Hell, but hey, it’s how Belphegor does things.

Still, he does say, “There’s gonna be a demon arriving to show you around in a few hours. Redecorate and do whatever the fuck you want and all that, but try not to fuck around with the weapons. Ask me questions for that, because some of those are…unstable.” He grimaces. “Lilith and some of the others had a knack for experimenting, but not perfecting.”

“Noted,” Rowena says.

Jack chuckles, amused. He’s missed this. He’ll _miss_ this, but some things must be done. They can’t just fix the universe halfway, after all. He takes a seat at the table, Michael and Cas finding other empty seats to fill in. The Shedim, sensing the need for privacy gives a small bow as a polite goodbye and vanishes in the next blink.

It’s just them now.

“So,” Dean starts. “What do you have to talk to us for?”

Jack shares a look with Cas, and then with Michael. He draws in a breath.

“We’re leaving for a while,” he says. “Cas, Michael and me.”

Sam frowns. “What for?”

“Heaven’s still a wreck,” Jack says. “It’s steadier now, a lot more stable, but the angels have no idea what they’re doing, or what they’re going to do, and if we don’t help them and get everything in order, I’m afraid the chaos might lead to something more dangerous.” He pauses. “Not to mention, some of them aren’t taking the…changes too lightly.”

“That’s fair,” Adam says. “I mean, they barely know you.”

Jack nods. “But, well, Heaven’s a pillar of the universe. If we’re fixing the whole thing, we’ll have to fix that, too,” he says. “And I can’t secede power like Belphegor, not when I’m actually holding onto the power, and not just a title.”

“How long are you gonna be gone for?” Sam asks.

“A while,” Jack says. “I can’t specify any time, I don’t know how long this will take, but, a while.”

“We’re helping him. The angels listen to Castiel and myself better than they do him, at least for now,” Michael says. “Besides, Heaven is still a home to us, regardless of everything that’s happened.”

“We’ll visit,” Castiel adds in. “Every now and then, we’ll drop by.”

“And if you ever need us, you can call us,” Jack says.

“It’s not going to take years, is it?” Dean asks.

Jack doesn’t answer.

“We don’t know,” Michael says.

“It’s not forever,” Jack says. “I’m – I’m not going to interfere with this world. Not in the way Chuck did. I’m not…running a story, or a production, or anything like that. I promised that the world would simply exist and simply be and I’m standing by that.” He nods, more to himself than anything. “But I also promised to fix the universe from destroying itself.”

He looks to Adam, then to Michael, then to Belphegor. They were gathered in the bunker, like this, once.

“So I’m going to fix it, and then…”

“Then?” Sam asks.

“Then the rest of whatever happens, happens,” Jack says, smiling, a little sadly. “If I fix every problem in the world, people won’t learn. People won’t grow and realize that as they live, their actions have consequences, for themselves, and for their children, and for everyone around them, and they can’t learn.” He shakes his head. “I can’t hold humanity’s hand, not like that.”

He sighs. “And I’m not going to take away its freedom, either. I’m done with that. Heaven is done with that. No more of the Winchester Gospels, or whatever theatre for an audience of one that Chuck is running. _No more messing about,” _he says. “Just everyone living their lives.”

He smiles. “And…well, when people have to be their best? They can be.”

“You’ll visit?” Sam asks.

“We’ll visit,” Jack says. “I don’t see the harm in it, as long as you don’t ask me for anything too ridiculous.”

Dean raises a hand. Adam swats it down.

“We’ll visit,” Michael says, turning to Adam.

Dean grumbles something that sounds like, “You better,” hazarding a glance at Castiel. Jack says nothing about it.

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “We’re always nearby, you know? Angels over your shoulder and all that. Divinity in everything…”

He stands, letting out a laugh, eyeing the shelves of the bunker, the initials scuffed on the table, even the way the chairs are arranged. He’d grown up here. He’d never forget this place. It feels silly to be committing it to memory when he knows he’s going to return, but he does it anyway. Who knows how long he’ll be away?

“We’ll always be this close,” he promises, a hand over his heart. If he’s in the rain, he can watch over his family. If he’s in the wind, he can watch over his family. If he’s in the earth, he can watch over his family.

Sam walks over to him, pulling him in for a hug. “We’ll miss you.”

Jack nods, holding him close as well. “I’ll miss you too.”

Dean steps forward, taking a turn to wrap his arms around him once Sam steps away. “Come here, kid.” He’s been a little more open with his affection since Chuck’s gone. He’s wary, and there’s always cautiousness in his movements, but, he’s trying.

Jack sees Adam and Michael across the table, saying their temporary goodbyes.

“Hey,” Belphegor says, when Dean’s let Jack go. “Good luck up there.”

“Thanks,” Jack says.

“You’ll need it,” Adam says, coming over to stand beside the demon.

“I really do,” Jack says. “Angels can be stubborn.”

“Tell me about it,” Adam says, glancing towards Michael, who frowns.

“I resent that,” Michael says.

Jack puts a hand to his mouth, laughing, Adam snickering with him.

“But really,” Adam says, sobering. “Good luck.”

“To you guys too,” Jack says. “Who knows what’s going to happen next, after all?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, but there’s no fear in his eyes. Just relief, contentment. “Who knows?”

“I know one thing,” Dean says, smiling so widely in a way Jack hasn’t seen him smile in months. He looks happy. He looks like he’s finally gotten some well-deserved rest, for once.

They all do.

“We’re free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and...it's done. i can't believe i wrote a crack fic that ended up being 100k+ words and FINISHED IT AHEAD OF ALL MY OTHER SERIOUS FICS. it's the crack. it's always the crack.
> 
> anyway, so, i've had a comment asking if i'm going to be writing more fics for this universe and...i think i will. working on this fic actually gave me ideas for a webcomic, and i'm still fleshing everything out, but the plot of the comic was based off of this fic's ending, so i thought that any fics i write after this would have the same plot as the comic, but i have ideas for short fics or oneshots that i think wouldn't cross over both things, so if i find the time i'll continue writing for property damage. i'm gonna take a break to just scream about spn in general (and also, this bad boy is 100k words, i need some r e s t,,,) and just relax for the holidays, work on my other fics, and just general life stuff, but i do have ideas. we'll see if they come to fruition.
> 
> that said, thanks for sticking all the way to the end. if you found this fic before spn's series finale ended, WELCOME. I AM SCREAMING AND IN DISBELIEF. 
> 
> this is it, guys, after 15 years. pleasure to have been in the same circus with you all this time.
> 
> writeblr: inkteacup.tumblr.com  
artblr: almostsweetangel.tumblr.com  
artstagram: @teacupchaos

**Author's Note:**

> This is heavily inspired by another fic I'm working on (hey to everyone who's read ALFG I promise there'll be updates soon) and another thing I'm kinda experimenting with. I also just really love meta.


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